


Should have known you'd bring me heartache

by TheElementOfSurprise



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheElementOfSurprise/pseuds/TheElementOfSurprise
Summary: Steve Rogers has only been out of the ice for a couple of months and he is lost in a modern world that has changed beyond all recognition. Wandering aimlessly around New York City isn't helping, until a chance encounter in an art gallery brings him something he didn't realise he so desperately needed, a friend.An Endgame fix-it fic, with fluff and friendship, and maybe something more?
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Comments: 133
Kudos: 372





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic was inspired by two things: a deleted scene from The Avengers of Steve wandering around New York looking lost and sad, and the final scene of Endgame when Steve may or may not have a teeny tiny crease between his brows as he dances with Peggy.  
>   
> I have some feelings about Endgame which I know are not unique, and so this is my fix-it. It all takes place behind the scenes of the movies so shouldn't mess with canon too much, but also don't expect much action, that's all happening elsewhere.  
>   
> All the thanks and appreciation go to my amazing Beta reader, she's a star!  
>   
> Hope you enjoy a little slice of warm fuzzy feelings to distract from the world being on fire.

**New York - April 2012**

The art gallery is practically deserted. It’s too early in the morning for crowds, just a few silent observers dotting the wide spaces of the rooms. Steve wanders aimlessly, his footsteps echoing faintly against the parquet flooring, hands pushed deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

His walk to the gallery had taken him through the park which was crowded with families enjoying the sun and noisy with the sounds of children screaming and laughing as they scampered around the play park watched by indulgent parents. It was all at once familiar and alien, the people haven’t changed in some ways but the children seem noisier and there were so many more of them, crowding every pathway and spread out on the grass in huddles, picnic blankets laid out and brightly coloured plastic toys scattered all over. Stepping into the cool, quiet of the gallery was a relief, a balm to his overwrought spirit.

Steve hunches his shoulders a little and stares at _Reflections of Clouds on the Water-Lily Pond_. It fills one wall and although he knows he is standing in front of a masterpiece he can’t muster any enthusiasm for it. It has been like this since he woke up and the reality of his new world crashed down on him. He is lonely, aimless, and however hard he tries nothing captures his imagination because he has no-one to share it with.

He glances around the room. A man stands to one side in rapt study of the painting, absorbed in a way that Steve vaguely envies. The other occupant of the room is seated at the back on one of the cushioned benches, a dark haired woman who is scribbling furiously in a small sketch book. Steve takes a couple of steps closer, curious to see what she is drawing. It is of the man on the other side of the room, a shadowy, detailed portrait to which the subject presumably remains oblivious. Blinking, Steve takes another hesitant step towards her, focusing on her skittering hand.

‘Jesus, dude!’ the woman suddenly exclaims loudly, glancing up to find him looming over her. The pencil in her hand clatters to the floor and the man on the other side of the room clears his throat. He gives them both a reproving look before disappearing out the door with an audible tut, and Steve’s eyes follow him until he vanishes from sight.

When Steve looks down again at the woman she is grinning a little guiltily and he notices that she has a gap between her front teeth. He wonders idly why she hasn’t had it fixed. Everyone nowadays seems to have perfect teeth, white and even and uniform.

‘Oops,’ she says with a sheepish smile and a nod towards the space previously occupied by the disapproving man. ‘Although, really you only have yourself to blame, sneaking up on me like that.’

Steve knows he should say something but he can’t find the words. The unexpected conversation has confounded him. Normally he prepares himself for every interaction so that he knows in advance what he will say but he has no opportunity for that this time. The light in her eyes fades a little when he can only awkwardly shrug in response and her face falls.

‘Sorry,’ he manages to croak out eventually. ‘I was just curious.’ She glances at the still open page of her sketch book and then drops her gaze to the floor. The light is dim, shadowing her face but Steve is certain she is blushing and it gives him a little courage. ‘It’s good,’ he says.

She seemed a little brash initially but his mild compliment seems to have muddled her and when she speaks again it is in a much lower tone. ‘Thanks, I was just messing about really.’ She’s closing the book and Steve frowns.

‘I didn’t mean to make you…you don’t have to stop. I shouldn’t have looked,’ he says clumsily.

‘It’s okay, my muse has deserted me anyways,’ she says with a small smile. She leans down and grabs her pencil from the floor before rising to her feet. ‘See you around, creeper,’ she says in parting with a flash of teeth and then saunters out the door.

Steve stares after her for a while and then back at the painting. Eventually he sighs and trails slowly in the same direction.

He sees her again a short time later in the art photography hall, gazing in fascination at a beautiful shot of the sea, the water rolling like mist around glistening black rocks. He almost turns on his heel and leaves her to it but Steve Rogers isn’t a coward. He does, however bring his feet down a little heavier than normal to give her plenty of warning of his approach.

She looks at him narrowly out of the corner of her eye and then says, ‘You can’t not love Ansel Adams’ photography.’ There’s a hint of a challenge in her tone as if she is testing him, but she’s right, the work is beautiful so he simply nods in agreement and watches a satisfied smile grace her lips.

There is a long moment of silence and then she jerks her head towards his hands. ‘Artist?’

Steve glances down at his fingers and realises they are black with graphite.

‘No, ma’am. Just…messing around.’

She gives him a sharp look as if she is unsure if he is mocking her or not and then a slow smile tugs the corners of her mouth.

‘Touché,’ she says with a slight shake of her head, before she drifts slowly away.

The third time, when he sees her sitting alone in the corner as he is threading his way through the tables in the busy café, Steve is almost resigned. She glances up as he approaches and raises her eyebrows.

‘Is it you following me or me following you?’ she says nudging the chair in front of her out with her toe so the metal legs shriek loudly as they scrape along the floor. Steve shrugs but inexplicably finds himself taking up her unspoken invitation and seating himself at the table, sliding his cup of black coffee carefully down.

‘You don’t say much, do you?’

‘I’ve not got a lot to say.’

Did that sound rude? He’s not sure, but he thinks silence may be the safest option, rather than compounding the problem with further ill-judged responses.

The silence continues for a few moments, broken only by the muted hum of conversation and the clink of cutlery against china around them, and then she asks softly, ‘Where were you deployed?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Where were you deployed?’ she repeats and then presses her lips together tightly. ‘Sorry, that’s intrusive. Just ignore me.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s fine. Afghanistan, two tours,’ he responds, reciting the cover story S.H.I.E.L.D. had made him memorise. ‘How did you know?’

‘I know a few guys who’ve been out there. They have the same look in their eyes as you.’

‘What look is that?’ he asks, although he is already instinctively hunching his shoulders.

‘Like they can’t quite remember what they’ve lost,’ she responds softly.

Steve clears his throat and then fails to find any words to fill the silence that falls. He remembers all too well what he has lost, every day a blunt reminder of his loneliness, the stifling quiet of his apartment and the strident isolation of the city around him.

He watches a family, father, mother and son on a table close by, the young son’s flushed, crumpled face promising an inevitable tantrum. The father looks a little harried and gets up hastily, hoisting the boy onto his hip and placating him with promises of ice cream. All too soon the little boy’s face relaxes into a gummy smile and he is chanting, ‘scream, scream’ as they walk away.

Steve clears his throat again. ‘It’s hard being back,’ he says and his throat tightens when he says it out loud.

The woman blows out a heavy sigh. ‘I bet,’ is all she says.

Steve rips open a packet of sugar, sprinkling it into his coffee. She watches him over the top of her cup as she judiciously sips her drink, some, no doubt oddly named, concoction with milky froth on the top. He finds he feels a little unsure of himself under the weight of her gaze so he stares at his coffee while he stirs in the sugar.

‘I’m Darcy, by the way,’ she says suddenly by way of introduction, her hand reaching across the table and into his peripheral vision. He pauses briefly before he grips her hand in a firm handshake and then lets it go.

‘Steve,’ he says.

‘Nice to meet you, Steve.’

He knows he should say more but every word is a struggle. Darcy doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of social skills, she is working her way unhurriedly through an iced pastry and it is only once she is licking the last of the crumbs off her fingers that she speaks again.

‘Have you been to that new exhibition at the Guggenheim?’ she asks. ‘The Jackson Pollock one?’

Steve nods, because of course he has. S.H.I.E.L.D. appear to have no real idea what to do with him and so, with nothing better to fill his days, he has taken to wandering all over the galleries of New York trying to muster some of his previous passion. 

‘What did you think?’

‘Um, I don’t know…’ he says. ‘I like his use of colour and his techniques are really interesting but…’

‘But…?’

‘I’m just not sure how I feel about it.’

She chuckles and nods. ‘I know what you mean. I always feel I’m missing something with Pollock. I mean, he’s said be one of the great American painters and yet his work always leaves me a bit underwhelmed.’

‘Underwhelmed is a good word for it,’ he agrees and then falls silent.

‘That helps. I was wondering if I should take the time to check it out but I don’t think I’ll bother.’ She reaches into her bag and pulls out a guide book, stuffed with a perfusion of crumpled leaflets. She selects one for the Guggenheim and slides it under her empty plate, effectively discarding it.

‘You a tourist?’

‘Is it that obvious?’ she says with a grin. ‘I’m on a research trip with my boss but she’s given me the day off to explore a bit. We’re based in New Mexico but we fly back tomorrow. You live here?’

He nods. ‘Brooklyn, born and bred.’ At least that is not a lie.

‘You got any top tips as a native New Yorker? Places worth a visit?’

Steve feels instantly self-conscious and stammers out a denial. ‘I’ve been away for a while, it feels like everything’s changed.’

‘Hey, it’s cool. I’ve got my book remember,’ she reassures him. ‘There’s a National Geographic Photography exhibition at the Natural History Museum that I was thinking of checking out. Have you seen that one?’ He shakes his head and she purses her lips contemplatively. ‘Hmm, it’s supposed to be good.’ 

He doesn’t know what makes him say it, except that his brain hasn’t quite caught up with his mouth when the words spill out.

‘Do you want to go to see it?’

She glances up, her expression inscrutable.

‘With you?’

Steve nods but he is already regretting his invitation. Going somewhere with someone that he doesn’t know seems like too big a step. He’s only really spoken to the S.H.I.E.L.D. staff assigned to him since he woke up and hasn’t said much to them either. Does he have anything more to say to her? Is there anything he _can_ say to her that isn’t redacted or classified? He fiddles with his empty coffee cup and looks at her under his lashes. She is hesitating, frowning slightly and he thinks that she is going spare him the awkwardness, make it easy by refusing him, and he’s relieved.

‘Sure,’ she says to his surprise. ‘Why not? Not like a date though.’ She eyes him narrowly. ‘I’m not really looking for a relationship, particularly not a long distance one.’ She shudders slightly and Steve wonders if there’s a story there.

He shakes his head. ‘Not a date.’ As if he could date, with Peggy’s loss so raw. She’s not gone, but the Peggy he knew is and he can’t yet face the harsh reality of the ravages of time. ‘Just some company,’ he says.

‘Okay then,’ she says easily.

Steve feels something akin to panic, a sudden tightening of his chest, at her acceptance and takes a deep breath. It’s ridiculous that he should feel like this over the most simple of interactions. She has no expectations of him and if it becomes too much he can make his excuses and leave. Maybe make up some kind of work emergency. The thought that he can politely take his leave whenever he wants goes some way to calming his sudden overwhelming anxiety.

‘Okay then,’ she says again and now that the decision is made she rises in a sudden flurry of movement, grabbing her bag and looking at him expectantly. ‘Shall we?’

Steve almost stumbles as he gets up hurriedly and she smiles slightly but makes no comment. He follows her out of the café and out onto the busy street.

‘What are you researching?’ he asks after a few minutes of walking, Darcy consulting her map at the end of every block even though they are walking in a straight line up 6th Avenue towards the park.

‘Huh?’ She looks up at him. ‘Oh, astrophysics. I think it’s this way,’ she says absently, pointing ahead into the park. ‘That’s my boss’ thing, I’m actually a Political Science major but I needed some extra college credits and she needed an intern so here we are. She’s the brains of the outfit, I’m mainly there to tidy up after her and make sure she eats,’ she says with self-deprecatingly grin.

By the time the Natural History Museum comes into view Darcy has filled him in the most of the particulars of her work with Jane, her boss, although she is strangely reticent about an ‘incident’ in the desert that seems to have cemented their friendship and changed the course of her internship. He doesn’t press her on the details, he knows what it is to have secrets and he doesn’t expect her to spill her guts to a total stranger. She describes Jane as brilliant and obsessive, but also inattentive when it comes to anything but her work, and there is pride and fondness in the way she talks about her friend that Steve finds strangely endearing.

The exhibition is good. Steve finds his enthusiasm growing in response to Darcy’s very lively fascination with the use of light and the different technical aspects as they wander around the vast hall.

It is nice, comfortable, almost normal, and afterwards he wonders why he was briefly so terrified. He improves over the course of the morning but there are still long periods when he forgets that he is supposed to be making small talk. Darcy seems unfazed by his limited conversational skills and keeps up a stream of inconsequential chatter that puts him at ease and relieves him of the burden of keeping up his side of the conversation. He is not sure if it is because she likes the sound of her own voice or if it is deliberate, if she knows how hard he struggles to be around people at the moment, but given her perceptive, if mistaken, comments about his veteran status he rather thinks it is the latter.

He doesn’t protest or make an excuse when she proclaims herself starving and drags him in the direction of the nearest pizzeria, pushing him towards the only empty table and going straight to the counter to order. She comes back with two Cokes and a selection of toppings, sliding the tray onto the table and slipping into the seat opposite him. Even though it’s not a date he feels like a heel for letting her pay but when he starts to take out his wallet she waves him off.

‘Don’t worry about it, dude,’ she says in a way that brooks no arguments, so he shoves his wallet back in his pocket with only the smallest of sighs. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like so…’ she says flicking a hand at the pile of pizza slices.

‘Anything is good,’ he says helping himself to top slice without paying much attention to the topping.

‘So, Steve,’ she says, after she has practically inhaled her first slice of pizza, accompanied with little blissful sounds that make the back of Steve’s neck heat up. ‘What are you doing now, workwise, you seem kind of adrift?’

‘My COs haven’t decided yet what to do with me. Things are a bit weird right now,’ he says and it’s closer to the truth than he cares to admit. He hunches his shoulders, drawing himself inward, and looks away.

‘You won’t get out?’ she says gently.

He glances back at her and shrugs. ‘Not really an option. I’m not sure what I’d do with myself even if I could.’

‘Become a famous artist?’ she says with a smile. He shakes his head ruefully.

‘That what you do? Make money from your art?’ he asks.

Darcy gives a low snort. ‘No, it’s just a hobby, I think I’ve got a long way to go before I can make any money off it. I might have to get myself a proper job first, or finish my degree maybe.’

‘I feel like I’m not the only one a bit adrift at the moment,’ he ventures carefully.

She takes a big bite of pizza, chews and swallows before grinning at him. ‘You’re not wrong there, my friend.’ Placing her food down, she wipes her mouth with a napkin. ‘So, you going to give me your number?’

Steve freezes. ‘My number?’ he responds, his tone a little strangled.

She chuckles. ‘Don’t look so scared, Steve. I was serious when I said I’m not looking for a relationship, particularly not a long distance one, but you seem nice and there’s no limit to the number of friends a person can have.’

‘And you want to be my friend?’ he says carefully.

‘Maybe,’ she concedes, regarding him with a semi-serious expression, ‘Though if you suddenly start expressing extremist right wing viewpoints I will have to make a concerted effort to convince you of your wrongitude. I have at least seven eighths of a Political Science degree to help in the destruction of your arguments,’ she finishes brightly.

‘Wrongitude?’

‘It’s a word, man,’ she says, wrinkling her nose at him. ‘That’s not up for dispute or our friendship could be over before it’s even begun.’

‘It’s definitely a word,’ he says swiftly, and a genuine smile softens her face.

‘Friends then?’ she says, holding out her hand. As he reaches to take it she pulls away and says with a quirk of her lips, ‘Unless you turn out to be a Nazi, in which case this agreement is null and void.’

Steve takes her proffered hand. ‘I can guarantee that I won’t turn out to be a Nazi,’ he says, so solemnly that he can see a brief flicker of confusion colour her expression at his earnestness. ‘Friends,’ he confirms and he smiles at her. She holds out her cell phone to him. He stares at it blankly for a moment and then takes it from her and carefully taps in his phone number. When he pulls out his little pocket book and flips to a blank page she raises her eyebrows slightly.

‘Wow, dude, that’s old school, I didn’t think there was anyone who doesn’t have a cell phone nowadays,’ she comments.

It doesn’t seem like the time to tell her that S.H.I.E.L.D. have given him a cell phone but there is no-one to call and no-one to call him so it remains switched off in a drawer in his kitchen.

Perhaps now he will have a reason to turn it on.

* * *

The next day when he does eventually turn his phone on, after Darcy has enthusiastically dragged him to the zoo only to remember that she loves animals but hates to see them caged; and after she has paid homage to John Lennon outside the Dakota building while Steve looks suitably sombre even though he has no idea who John Lennon is; and after they have stuffed themselves with tacos until even Steve is groaning; and after Darcy has extracted a promise from him to take her to Coney Island when she is next in New York; and after it has slowly dawned on Steve that he is actually having fun; after all that, there is already a message from her blinking at him from his phone screen.

**_Darcy:_ ** _Hi Steve, I wasn’t planning to send you a message so soon, playing it cool and all that, but I really have to share this with literally everyone I know…_

**_Darcy:_ ** _Best. Flight. Ever!_

Steve smiles and begins to laboriously tap out a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly the puppy picture is from an internet search of 'puppy on a plane' and not one of my own because that seriously would be the best flight ever!


	2. Chapter 2

**New York/New Mexico - May 2012**

Shawarma is not terrible, Steve has to admit, but like the rest of the team he is chewing it mechanically, slumped in his seat, exhaustion seeping into every muscle. His sleep patterns are usually erratic and restless but at that moment he can only think longingly of his bed. He doesn’t want to be the one to break up the new found unity of the silent group and so he is relieved when Clint pushes himself slowly to his feet and gives a sloppy salute.

‘I’m for bed,’ is all he says. Natasha goes with him and after waiting for a couple of minutes Steve too takes his leave with a weary farewell. Once back at his apartment he collapses gratefully into bed, pausing only to strip off his suit and drink a large glass of water.

It is the rumbling of his stomach that wakes him and he rubs his eyes wondering what time it is. As he pads to the kitchen to make a sandwich he notices his cell phone blinking at him on the counter with a slew of messages from Darcy.

 **_Darcy:_ ** _Are there seriously aliens in New York? Are you ok? I’m in Norway so it’s a bit hard to get any info but please let me know you’re ok._

 **_Darcy:_ ** _So, I haven’t heard from you and I’m trying not to freak out but if you could just put me out of my misery and text me back I’d really appreciate it._

 ** _Darcy:_** _This is starting to not be funny, you better have a decent excuse prepared for why you still haven’t text me back. Sorry, just really worried here_.

He quickly dials her number and she picks up after only one ring.

‘Steve?’ she says.

‘It’s me,’ he responds, his voice still gruff from sleep.

‘Are you okay?’

He probably should have led with that given the increasingly anxious tone of her messages. ‘I’m fine, just a couple of bruises,’ he says easily, skirting carefully around the truth. She doesn’t need to know that the bruises cover almost the entirety of one side of his body and are currently a fetching shade of dark purple. They will fade quickly.

Darcy breathes out an audible sigh of relief. ‘Not going to lie, dude, you had me worried there.’

Her concern for his wellbeing warms him and he smiles despite everything. ‘I’m sorry, I should have called but things were a bit crazy and I didn’t have my phone.’

She gives a shocked gasp. ‘Didn’t have your phone? Call yourself a millennial!’

‘I don’t call myself a millennial,’ he protests. ‘Why are you in Norway?’

‘Last minute research trip, though it turned out to be a bust. Jane’s furious, there’s a strong possibility that she may commit an act of violence, so it’s probably a good thing the Avengers are all distracted at the moment.’ she says airily.

Steve’s heart almost stops at her casual mention of the Avengers. He lost his cowl at some point in the battle and he’s pretty sure there’s footage floating around on the news channels of him without it. There’s a possibility that Darcy won’t recognise him but he isn’t quite ready to deal with it if she does.

‘When are you back?’ he asks to distract her from talk of the Avengers.

She hums noncommittally. ‘Um, not sure. Hopefully in a couple of days otherwise Jane’s going to have someone’s head on a spike.’ She doesn’t actually sound like she is joking. ‘What about you? You back in work tomorrow or is everything shut down in the city?’

‘It’s a bit of a mess here, but they’re talking about giving us some R&R,’ he says slowly. ‘I thought I might take a road trip, see some sights.’

‘Weird, you’d think the military would insist on all hands on deck after an alien invasion.’

If it weren’t that the sound would give him away Steve would have slapped his palm hard against his forehead but instead he contents himself by mouthing silent curses.

‘Yeah, weird,’ he says finally. ‘They still haven’t worked out what to do with me, so I think they just want me out of their hair for a bit, while they sort things out.’

‘Makes sense,’ Darcy responds and he breathes out a silent sigh of relief when she doesn’t question him further. ‘You better send me pictures of all the weird stuff you see on your road trip, I want daily updates. Oh, and if you make it as far as New Mexico then look me up. It could be fun and if nothing else the company will be top notch.’

‘Yeah, I will, if I get that far,’ Steve says. Darcy seems satisfied by his noncommittal response, at least she doesn’t press him any further, and by the time he hangs up the phone he has put her invitation to the back of his mind.

* * *

So far to the back of his mind that New Mexico takes him completely by surprise five days into his trip. He hadn’t consciously been heading in that direction but suddenly a huge yellow sign is welcoming him to ‘New Mexico, Land of Enchantment’ as he approaches the state line.

It had taken less time than he thought it would transferring Loki to Thor’s custody but then interplanetary portals made quick business of their return to Asgard. Steve was just glad to see the back of the Tesseract. He told Fury they should have left the damned thing in the ocean. When he had said his farewells to the rest of the team, amid the handshakes and smiles, he could sense a camaraderie there that had been missing before, something to be built upon for the future, when they all returned from some well-deserved rest and relaxation. That, and passing the city limits where he could really open up the throttle on his motorcycle, had quieted the clamour of his sorrow, as if for a moment the weight of unhappiness he had been carrying with him for the past few months was blown away by the wind in his face and the anticipation of the road before him.

And now he is here, in the ‘Land of Enchantment’.

He snorts, the barren landscape doesn’t exactly scream enchantment but he is willing to be proved wrong. Pulling off the road in the shadow of the huge sign he searches around in his paniers until he finds his phone. His finger hovers over the dial button as he is hit with a sudden apprehension that he has read this all wrong, that Darcy hadn’t meant her throwaway comment. He could just not call her, head back to Amarillo and find a motel for the night. Tell her he never made it this far.

He takes a deep breath and then jogs back down the road and snaps a picture of the yellow sign. Without giving himself time to over think things he captions it ‘Surprise’ and sends it to Darcy. His phone pings only a minute later.

 **_Darcy:_ ** _Seriously?! Seriously?! You better be coming to visit me, mister?_

 **_Steve:_ ** _That was the plan. If you’re free?_

 ** _Darcy:_** _It’s a good plan, Man with a Plan! I’m free as a bird and clearly failing at anything approaching nonchalance!_ :)

Steve pauses over his response and shakes his head, surely it’s just a coincidence?

 **_Steve:_ ** _You don’t have to work this weekend?_

 **_Darcy:_ ** _No, Jane’s having a bit of a personal crisis and has pretty much quit. It’s ok, she’ll be over it by Monday but it means that she’s unlikely to make me science for a few days. Come by whenever you get here._

She texts him an address and when he checks on his crumpled map it’s about a three hour drive away. He heads back to his motorcycle and gets back on the road, reassured by Darcy’s enthusiastic response and still wondering if there was anything to her ‘Man with a Plan’ comment.

Puente Antiguo is a pretty tiny place, scrappy and dust ridden with some alarming looking scorch marks on a few of the buildings, the cause of which he can’t quite fathom. The size of the place means it doesn’t take Steve long to find Darcy’s ramshackle apartment building. She yanks open the door almost before he can knock and, to his surprise, throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into a quick, tight hug.

‘Sorry,’ she says as she releases him. ‘Didn’t mean to throw myself at you, it’s just good to see you in one piece. New York looked a mess.’

He gives a small smile.

‘It’s fine, it’s been a weird couple of weeks,’ he says. 

‘I bet. A full on alien invasion.’ She shakes her head in disbelief, although it is almost with an air of disappointment, as if the aliens themselves have let her down. She looks him up and down and then steps back. ‘You coming in?’

Steve glances down the corridor and shrugs. ‘You sure I should?’

For a second she just stares at him and then she cackles.

‘What are you, like, ninety? You sound like my landlady, she’s always muttering about my gentlemen callers.’

He bites back the obvious retort but follows her in nonetheless. ‘You have a lot of gentlemen callers?’ he says, raising an eyebrow.

‘So many,’ she says with a grin. ‘Sometimes multiples in the same night.’

He can’t tell if she is joking and it seems impolite to ask so he remains silent, rubbing his hands a little nervously on his trousers and looking around the apartment.

The end wall is almost floor to ceiling windows. There is an easel set up facing the window so he can’t see what is on it and a folding table filled with carefully stacked paints, brushes and other art supplies. Next to it is a small couch, somewhat battered with a pile of tidily folded blankets at one end. The kitchen is tiny, barely more than a sink and a stove separated from the room by a short breakfast bar, and spotlessly clean. He can only assume that the two doors on the other side of the room lead to the bedroom and the bathroom respectively, though both doors are currently shut. Dotted all around are a perfusion of house plants, on shelves, on the floor and trailing over the surfaces but otherwise the apartment is surprisingly neat. Given Darcy’s somewhat exuberant nature and slightly scruffy dress sense he had assumed she would be messier.

‘You been cleaning since I messaged?’ he says with a sly smile.

Her expression turns affronted. ‘No, this is pretty much how it always looks. I pick up after Jane for a living, this is way easier to keep clean.’ She gives him a conspiratorial look. ‘Just don’t go in the bedroom.’

‘Noted,’ he says and then his eye is caught by three brightly coloured, framed cartoons on the wall and he moves closer. They are caricatures, all oversized heads, huge eyes and child-like bodies. It takes him a moment to realise that the dark haired girl in most of them is Darcy and he studies the other characters more closely.

One is Darcy, a brown haired woman and an older man squashed into an RV, looking terrified as a storm rages around them. Given what Darcy has told Steve about her work here in New Mexico he can only assume that the other two characters are Jane and Erik. There’s another one of Jane with hearts for eyes looking up at a very tall blond man who reminds Steve a little of Thor and a third of Darcy clinging happily to a distracted looking Jane.

Steve glances back at Darcy to find her watching him with a certain amount of self-consciousness in her gaze.

‘Did you do these?’ he asks and she bites her lip and nods.

‘They’re just a bit of fun,’ she says.

‘This Jane? And Erik?’ She nods again. ‘And this?’ he points to the blond man.

‘Jane’s on-off boyfriend,’ she says but she doesn’t offer a name. Thinking about it, she only ever refers to him as Jane’s boyfriend but then he seems to cause Jane quite a lot of heartache so maybe there’s some resentment towards him. Whatever it is Steve doesn’t question it.

‘They’re really good,’ he says and she chuckles and shakes her head as if dismissing his compliment. He doesn’t like that she does that but he doesn’t know her well enough to call her out on it.

There’s a beat of silence and Steve’s nerves return.

He’s already decided he is going to tell her the truth, had decided it while he was driving, but now he’s here it seems like a much greater hurdle than he initially imagined. Even in his head it sounds ridiculous, she’s going to think he is delusional, or mocking her, and he desperately doesn’t want to ruin this fledgling friendship, this small part of his life in which Captain America plays no part. Not telling her is an option he has considered but the weight of the lies already rests heavily on him and he knows that in the future that burden will only intensify.

Clenching his fists reflexively he turns to her, taking the proverbial bull by the horns.

‘Are you hungry?’ she says before he can speak and for a moment he just stares at her in confusion.

‘Um, yeah. I guess,’ he says when his brain finally catches up.

‘There’s a place down the road that does the best tacos you’ve ever tasted,’ Darcy says, seemingly not noticing his slow response.

‘Should have known it would be tacos,’ he says with a smile.

‘Seriously though, they’re to die for,’ she says, already slipping her feet into her sneakers and searching around for her bag. She opens the door and ushers him out. ‘Come on, I’m starving,’ she says and he follows her meekly, resigning himself to holding on to his secret for a while longer.

He questions her on the scorch marks scarring the buildings as they walk and while she readily tells him about some nutter with a flame thrower who took out his frustrations with life on the town she is strangely evasive on the details, and doesn’t really explain how a flame thrower could have wrought such destruction. He wonders if he is becoming too sceptical since his thawing as he also can’t fathom why the pet store owner greets her with such enthusiasm, until she tells him quietly once they are on their way again that she helped rescue some of the animals when the store was on fire during the aforementioned attack. She doesn’t see Steve’s small smile at that but he remembers how she was at the zoo and can easily picture her piling out of the burning building with arms full of animals.

The tacos are, as promised, ridiculously tasty, and Darcy is so pleased to see him that he doesn’t want to ruin their dinner by confessing his secret, plus he doesn’t really want to run the risk of being overheard in the restaurant. That could be either awkwardly embarrassing or a full blown security disaster, so he keeps it to himself and instead describes the sights he has seen on his trip across America.

By the time they finish their food the sun is setting and somehow Darcy convinces him that this is a good time to drive out into the desert to see the night sky. She is loudly enthusiastic at the prospect of a ride on his motorcycle and whoops jubilantly when he guns the engine on the main road, making Steve grin despite himself. The rough patch of desert that she directs him to, by way of yelling directions in his ear over the roar of the bike, has a number of odd looking devices whirring away and a couple of battered loungers. Darcy checks on the machinery, clicking her tongue and humming quietly as she prods and pokes at each gadget. Once apparently satisfied she plonks herself on one of the loungers and gestures at him to do the same.

Steve sinks into the proffered seat and looks up. Above, winking at him from the inky sky, are a multitude of twinkling silver stars. He sucks in a long breath.

‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ Darcy say quietly. ‘I’ve always lived in the city and I never realised what I was missing surrounded by all that light pollution,’

Steve nods but doesn’t take his eyes off the expanse above him. They sit in companionable silence for a time and then Darcy stretches noisily. ‘I should really be able to name more than I can but Jane always uses the scientific names and they go straight out of my head almost before she’s finished saying them,’ she huffs, pulling Steve back from his reverie and reminding him that he has waited quite long enough. He sits up in his lounger and turns to face her.

‘Listen, I’ve got something I need to tell you. Something about the Avengers in New York.’

She tilts her head at him, looking puzzled. ‘Okay,’ she says, also sitting up and turning to face him. Steve looks down at his hands, which are clasped tightly in his lap, and takes a deep breath.

‘So, I’ve not been completely honest with you,’ he begins and then stops and pinches his brow. When he looks up at her she is biting her lip and frowning.

‘Okay?’ she prompts him.

‘Captain America, that’s me. I mean, I’m Captain America,’ he says in a garbled rush.

‘Huh?’ Darcy says, staring at him for a long time until she snorts uncertainly. ‘Okay, dude, good one.’

It’s not a totally unexpected response but he doesn’t know where to go from here except to plough on.

‘No, seriously, I am Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America.’

He knows he sounds insane, and so he isn’t particularly surprised when she laughingly says, ‘Bullshit!’

Steve fumbles for his wallet and pulls out his S.H.I.E.L.D. ID and hands it to her. She takes it but doesn’t even look down.

‘Look at it,’ Steve pleads and she glances at the card in her hand. It stops her laughter and she makes a sort of choking noise.

‘Holy shit, you’re serious!’ she exclaims and then to his surprise she blows out a long sigh. ‘Well, that makes things a whole lot easier,’ she says.

Steve frowns. ‘What do you mean?’ He feels his chest tighten as he wonders for a moment if he’s been duped, if this comfortable friendship he thought they were building is something else entirely in her eyes.

She narrows her eyes at him, a hint of lingering suspicion visible as she regards him. ‘Is this legit?’ she says carefully, waving the ID badge at him and watching him closely.

‘Yes,’ he says firmly. She regards the ID for a couple of seconds, frowning fiercely. Steve almost expects her to bite the corner to check its veracity but she doesn’t. 

‘Do you know…’ She pauses and then corrects herself. ‘ _Did_ you know an Agent Coulson?’

‘Yeah, I did,’ he says sadly and he catches her little sympathetic grimace. The little cartoons on her wall suddenly flash in his mind and suddenly everything clicks together. The heavily redacted S.H.I.E.L.D. report he read on Thor’s first contact, Darcy’s reticence regarding what actually happened in Puente Antiguo, and her vague talk of the incident in the desert. He glances up at her. ‘You know Thor,’ he says and it is not a question.

‘Big, blond guy? Weirdly obsessed with his hammer? That’s not an innuendo by the way. Yeah, we’ve met,’ she says with a smile.

‘Thor is Jane’s on/off boyfriend,’ he says and again it’s not a question. He can’t believe he didn’t work it out earlier. The little cartoon even reminded him of Thor, because it was Thor. Steve feels like a bit of an idiot.

‘Yeah,’ Darcy confirms. ‘It’s hard maintaining an interplanetary relationship so it’s mainly off but Jane would never admit that.’

‘And the madman with a flame thrower? Loki?’

‘The one and only. Can’t say I’m a massive fan, he seems like kind of a dick but I keep my opinions to myself when Thor’s around.’

Steve chuckles and then lets out a deep sigh. ‘You’re right, this really does make things much easier.’

Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees Darcy gives him a speculative look. ‘You’re Captain America.’ She shakes her head wonderingly before fixing him with an intent stare. ‘So,’ she drawls, ‘I have some pretty specific physics questions about the…’

‘Shield?’ Steve interrupts.

Her mouth curves up into a wicked grin. ‘Nah, man. The suit. Seriously, that thing is tight. Must be hell to move in?’

Groaning Steve buries his suddenly red face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's cartoons are Chibi style if you want a visual.


	3. Chapter 3

**London - October 2013**

Darcy’s hands are shaking again.

She stares at her cup of coffee and watches the tiny ripples chase across the surface of the liquid. Heaving a sigh she takes another sip and then puts the mug down, the clumsy rattle of china against the table top betraying the tremor in her fingertips.

Maybe she should cut down on the caffeine.

Or maybe she needs to talk to her therapist. Maybe she needs to _get_ a therapist. Urgently. 

It’s definitely the latter. Caffeine never lets her down.

She sighs again and starts clearing the discarded breakfast plates. Erik has retreated to his study, shutting the door firmly behind him in a not so subtle bid for privacy, and Jane vanished with Thor in a flash of rainbow light some time ago. Darcy doesn’t know where Jane and Thor have gone but she has a pretty good idea what they are doing. She is happy for Jane, she really is, and tries not to be too offended that Thor couldn’t even find the time to pop in and say hello before he whisked Jane away.

Her phone suddenly trills behind her and she recoils, flinching hard and dropping the stack of plates in her hands with a crack of broken crockery. Swearing, she abandons the mess in the sink and fumbles with her phone until, despite her trembling hands, she manages to accept the call.

‘Hey Steve,’ she says, breathing out a long, involuntary sigh.

‘Hey Darcy, are you okay?’ He sounds anxious and though she knows she is being petulant she can’t help but think that it is nice to have _someone_ voice some concern for her wellbeing. It’s not really fair on Jane or Erik but it is how she feels at that moment.

She laughs but it comes out a touch bitterly. ‘Do you think that will ever not be our first question?’

There’s a pause and then he says, almost sadly, ‘Probably not. Any chance you weren’t involved in that…whatever the hell that was in London?’

‘Big black alien spaceship thingy? Dark Elves? Bilgesnipe on the rampage? Yeah, I was there.’

‘Bilgesnipe?’ is his first question, followed quickly by, ‘But you’re okay? Jane and Erik are okay?’

‘We’re fine. Thor turned up and Jane did something clever with portals, don’t ask me to explain what, and the bad guys went away. Could have used that big shiny frisbee you like to throw around though.’ Her tone is much sharper than she intends and she feels immediately bad for the underlying censure in her words.

‘I know, I’m sorry. There was a…’ he pauses and then says carefully, ‘There was a threat we had to deal with over here.’

‘Bigger that Dark Elves?’ she says and, again, it comes out on the sharp side of accusation. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, just struggling to process,’ she admits.

‘The adrenalin wearing off?’ he says and she thinks maybe he knows how she is feeling, except there’s no way that Steve, big, brave Steve, has ever felt the same terror that seems to be threatening to retrospectively choke her.

‘Yeah, something like that.’ She sighs deeply. ‘Do you ever get scared, like afterwards?’ she asks in almost a whisper. ‘When you realise how differently things could have gone?’

‘Of course,’ he says without a pause and some of the tension pinching Darcy’s shoulders eases fractionally.

‘That’s reassuring. Jane doesn’t seem to be scared of anything, except maybe losing her funding, and Erik just deflects everything by burying himself in science. I just wondered if maybe I was being pathetic.’

She feels pathetic and though she was aiming for a flippant tone it instead borders on plaintive.

‘You’re not pathetic,’ Steve says firmly. ‘And everyone is scared. You can’t be brave if you’re not afraid.’

Darcy mulls that over for a time, chewing on her lip absently.

‘I kissed Ian,’ she eventually blurts out into the silence.

‘Ian, that guy you interviewed to be your intern the other week?’ Steve says and she can hear the amusement in his tone.

‘Ian, the guy I hired to be my intern. He saved my life, threw a car at a bunch of evil Elves,’ she says a little defensively.

‘Threw a car? Is he…enhanced?’ Steve’s tone is laced with surprise. 

‘No, no, just this whole Convergence thingy messing with gravity.’

‘Oh,’ Steve says slowly. ‘So you kissed him?’

‘I was stressed, man. Don’t judge me.’

‘Not judging…’ he assures her quickly.

‘Good,’ she says in a churlish tone.

‘It’s just I’ve heard that relationships based on intense experiences never work.’

Darcy frowns and traces a fingertip across the table top.

‘Did you just quote Speed to me?’ she says slowly and incredulously. ‘Wow, I think you’ve just managed to blow my mind, and I met Dark Elves yesterday!’ She hears his muffled chuckle. ‘Anyway, we’re going to base it on sex so not going to be a problem.’

‘Too much information, Darcy.’

‘Hey, you started it with the Speed quotes,’ she protests and then sighs heavily. ‘I think I need a new job. I’m getting too old for this shit.’

There is a long pause and then Steve says, ‘Lethal Weapon, right?’

Darcy laughs. ‘Have you been binge watching classic 80s and 90s action films without me?’

‘Tony calls it Team Building.’

‘Has he made you watch Die Hard yet, or is he saving that for Christmas?’

‘Why would he be saving it for Christmas?’ Steve asks in a puzzled tone.

‘Because, Steve, we live in a world fragmented, split, divided into those that think Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and those that don’t. It’s a serious modern debate, and the third most common motive for homicide on Christmas Day, after eating the last mince pie and the oven breaking,’ she tells him, a touch dramatically.

‘Well, I don’t think Tony’s has particularly strong feelings about it because I’ve watched Die Hard, Die Harder and Die Hard with a Vengeance. Apparently I still have Live Free or Die Hard and A Good Day to Die Hard to look forward to,’ he responds dryly.

‘And what did you think?’ Darcy says, trying to stifle a smile.

There’s a moment of silence as he apparently thinks his response over carefully.

‘They’re a little improbable, particularly the German accents,’ he says eventually.

Darcy snorts as she picks up her cup and takes a sip of lukewarm coffee. When she puts it down again on the table top she notices something.

Her hands have stopped shaking.

She smiles softly and then passionately declares, ‘I won’t hear a word said against the sainted Alan Rickman, however improbable his German accent.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Washington DC - February 2014**

The bar is anonymous, dimly lit, and no one looks twice at Steve, for which he is grateful as his thick rimmed glasses aren’t much of a disguise. He had been reticent at first, when Darcy had suggested the idea, but her quiet enthusiasm and his new found desire to please her had eventually changed his mind. She was right though, the music is good and the beginners Swing class is fun.

Darcy is attempting the first few steps of the dance with an intent frown on her face, her movements far too slow for the pace of the music but she is gradually picking up speed until she stumbles and casts him a rueful smile. Steve is doing slightly better, if only because the steps haven’t changed much in the last seventy years. That being said, he is still pretty stiff and can’t quite master the loose limbed exuberance of the more experienced dancers. He gives Darcy a squeeze on the arm and mimes drinking a beer. She grins and follows him to the bar.

‘I may have overestimated how much coordination I really have,’ she says, sliding onto a bar stool with a relieved sigh. Steve signals the barman and two more beers are plopped down in front of them.

Steve takes a swig. ‘I may have remembered why dance halls were always Bucky’s thing and not mine.’

‘You weren’t doing so badly,’ she says. He scoffs and raises his eyebrow. ‘You weren’t doing as badly as me,’ she amends.

‘That’s pretty low bar,’ he responds with a smirk.

‘Hey!’ she exclaims, elbowing him in the ribs. Steve makes a show of clutching his side in agony and Darcy rolls her eyes. He feels lighter tonight, more at ease with himself, and with Darcy. As always she seems unconcerned by his alter ego, content with her relationship with Steve Rogers. They almost never discuss work, except to gripe about their respective days in the most generic way possible. The petty annoyances of work barely differ no matter if you’re employed by a secret government organisation, a distracted astrophysicist or, more recently, a senator. Mostly they talk about art, exhibitions they have visited, or the seemingly endless list of recommended movies he is slowly slogging his way through. They don’t get many opportunities to meet up, work and missions have a habit of derailing their plans, but it is easier since Darcy’s move to DC and they manage to steal the odd weekend here and there.

Tonight is a departure from their usual expeditions but Steve is enjoying himself and pleased that Darcy has somehow found something that feels comfortably familiar without being an extravagant imitation. Darcy’s company is undemanding, she has very few expectations of him and doesn’t make a song and dance over the occasional curses he utters in private or the large gaps in his knowledge of the modern world. She is, however, adept at finding ways for him to ease himself into contemporary culture without making him feel like a relic. With her he feels normal and it loosens the tight fist that seems to have wrapped its vice like grip around his heart, making it increasingly easy to open up to her, to talk about the past. It’s nice to have a friend who doesn’t see him as Captain America first and Steve Rogers as a palpable afterthought.

‘Bucky liked dancing, and science. Couldn’t get enough of either,’ Steve eagerly tells Darcy, the frenetic atmosphere on the dance floor, the smells of stale beer and sweat in the muggy air of the club all bringing back memories of being dragged out on double dates with his friend. Steve’s date would usually look disappointed and sulky for most of the night, inevitably disillusioned by Bucky’s overzealous, but well meaning, endorsement of Steve. He doesn’t tell Darcy that though, it seems a bit pitiful. ‘The night before he shipped out we went to the big Science Expo, saw Howard Stark’s flying car. Not that it flew for very long.’

‘His last night in New York and he chose to go to a science fair?’ Darcy says when he pauses in his reminiscences.

Steve blinks. ‘Yeah, as I said, he liked science. He went dancing later with his date and her friend.’ It comes out almost defensively.

Darcy chuckles and shakes her head. ‘No judgement here, I just would have assumed that the night before shipping out he’d have had slightly wilder plans. The history books paint him as a charming rogue, not a science geek.’

‘I think his ladies-man persona was exaggerated when compared to my complete inability to speak to women. Anyone who can maintain any kind of conversation starts to look like a lothario in contrast.’

‘I’m going to ignore that you seem to have missed the fact that I am a woman,’ she says dryly.

Steve flushes and immediately begins to stammer out an apology.

‘There it is,’ she smirks. ‘Now I feel like a real girl.’

He narrows his eyes at her and she gives him a crooked smile. Taking out his ever present pocket book Steve flicks through it until he finds the sketch he is looking for. It’s Bucky, grinning with excitement, eyes sparkling under his military cap.

‘This is him,’ Steve says, pressing down the pages and extending the book out to her. ‘How I remember him that night.’

She gives a low whistle. ‘Well, hello handsome,’ she says with a slow smile.

‘You’re not the first woman to think that,’ Steve laughs, and then his face falls into a more pensive expression. ‘He was like family to me, after my mother died,’ he says with a sigh. He looks up and sees that she is eying him with an expression close to concern, and he feels suddenly self-conscious. ‘What about your family?’ he says quickly, diverting the conversation from himself.

Darcy’s nose wrinkles reflectively. ‘It’s just me and my dad now, we’re not that close.’

Steve frowns sympathetically but she waves a hand in denial and takes a sip of her beer.

‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ she says, absently picking at the label. ‘There’s no drama there, we’re just different people. He and my brother were close, probably because my brother followed him into the military, but me and him, not so much.’

‘What happened to your brother?’ he asks gently.

‘Dan,’ she clarifies. ‘Car accident, a drunk driver took him out at an intersection.’ Her tone is bland, but there is pain in her eyes that makes him want to reach out to her. ‘Ironically, while he was home on leave.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

She shakes her head as if to dispel his sympathy.

‘It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, it is what it is. Time moves on, makes things less raw. I still miss him but it’s a duller sort of pain now. I just hate…’ She stops and takes an unsteady breath. Steve waits. ‘I just hate that my dad won’t talk about him now. I want to talk about my brother, remember him, but Dad’s way of dealing with his grief is to never mention Dan ever.’

Steve doesn’t know what to say, knows first-hand how meaningless platitudes can be in situations like this. He settles for reaching out and giving the hand not clasped tightly around the neck of her beer a quick squeeze. 

‘I shouldn’t really be surprised really,’ she continues after her fingers twitch against his in mute acknowledgement. ‘My father’s not one for sharing his feelings. It was always don’t ask, don’t tell in our house. I think that was the reason that he and Dan were able to maintain their relationship but I couldn’t forgive him that attitude at Dan’s funeral. He barely acknowledged Dan’s partner, Will, and when he did deign to bestow his notice on Will he referred to him as Dan’s ‘friend’. Didn’t even invite him to the wake, said it was family only.’ She pinches her brow and looks down. ‘I probably should have said something, but I didn’t have the strength to argue with him. Pathetic really.’

Steve squeezes her hand again. ‘You can always talk to me about Dan, any time you want,’ he says quietly. She shoots him a small smile.

‘Thanks.’ She is silent for a long time. ‘Okay, maybe there’s a little drama there,’ she acknowledges and then she gives herself a shake. ‘Anyway…we were meant to be having fun tonight.’ Downing the last of her beer she slips from her stool and looks at him expectantly. Steve can tell she wants to change the subject, she is done talking about her brother for now so he finishes his own beer and stands up.

‘Dance?’ he says.

‘If that’s what you want to call dancing,’ Darcy says, nudging him with her shoulder. Steve is relieved to see her eyes brimming with mischief, rather than the shadow of melancholy and he can’t help but smile.

‘Oh, that’s how it is?’

‘Oh that’s how it is,’ she laughs. She turns towards the dance floor and then just as quickly turns back, forestalling him with a brief touch to his arm. She leans in and whispers in his ear, ‘That woman over by the toilets is checking you out.’ Glancing around the bar she nods over his shoulder. ‘And that blond one, and that man over by the jukebox.’

Steve flushes and doesn’t look round, just ducks his head awkwardly. ‘I’m sure they’re not.’

‘Oh, they really are,’ Darcy says with an impish grin that slips a bit when she takes in his slightly panicked expression. ‘But if you’re not ready for that..?’

‘I’m not,’ he says quickly, seizing upon the out she offers him.

‘Well, in that case, I think you promised me something approximating a dance,’ she says with a smile, placing her hand in his and tugging him out onto the dance floor.

She doesn’t mention his potential admirers again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Washington DC - March 2014**

The door lock jams again and Darcy jiggles the key impatiently until it clicks, shifting her heavy shopping bag in her other hand. Steve promised to stop by over the weekend so she is stocking up the fridge in anticipation of his ridiculous appetite. She pushes the door open, heaving the bag onto the kitchen counter and kicking her heels off carelessly with a sigh of relief. Every constituent she met with today seemed to be unreasonably belligerent and have the most complicated problems that they required her to solve immediately. She is very much looking forward to a glass of chilled Sauvignon and not thinking about any of it for the rest of the weekend.

She turns towards the refrigerator and nearly drops the bottle of wine.

There is a woman sitting on her couch.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Darcy hisses, slamming the bottle down on the counter top and pressing a hand over her hammering heart.

The red-haired woman appears unperturbed by Darcy’s outburst and continues her very calm survey of the apartment, outwardly relaxed but with a very real sense of coiled menace about her that sends a chill down the back of Darcy’s neck.

‘What are you doing in my apartment?’ Darcy asks cautiously. It occurs to her as she says it that it’s possibly not a normal response to finding a stranger in her home, surely there should be more screaming or outrage?

The woman looks unruffled by Darcy’s less than enthusiastic welcome and turns her intense scrutiny on Darcy herself, raking her eyes up and down in a way that makes Darcy intensely uncomfortable, like she is being judged and found wanting. She shuffles her feet and then lifts her eyes to glare at the woman, awaiting an answer to her question with as much dignity as she can muster. The woman rises to her feet in one smooth motion and puts her hands on her hips.

‘I’ll admit I was curious about you. Curious to see where it is Steve keeps sneaking off.’

The connection to Steve is the final piece of the puzzle; the tantalisingly familiar features; the straight curtain of red hair; and the taut stillness of a trained professional.

Darcy stiffens her spine.

The Black Widow is standing in her apartment.

Had she been asked prior to this intrusion Darcy would have happily supposed she’d immediately revert to gushing fangirl but in reality there is something more than a little intimidating in having a spy/assassin/all-round badass in her living room.

‘That’s really none of your business,’ Darcy says with what she considers to be remarkable poise, although her heart is still pounding.

Black Widow smirks.

‘Actually, it’s very much my business. Steve is my business and I will neutralise any possible threats to him.’ She says it very mildly but the warning is clear.

‘You think I’m a threat?’ Darcy says in disbelief.

‘No,’ Black Widow says slowly after a pause. ‘I don’t think you are but I had to be sure.’ She eyes Darcy again for a moment and then gestures to the couch. ‘Come, sit,’ she says resuming her seat. Darcy hesitates but then moves cautiously forward, gritting her teeth in irritation that this woman has full command of the situation while sitting coolly in Darcy’s home. She lowers herself stiffly to the couch and presses her hands to her knees, eyes on Black Widow.

‘Nice to finally meet you, Steve’s friend,’ Black Widow says, extending a hand. ‘Natasha Romanoff.’

Darcy takes her hand warily.

‘Darcy Lewis.’

‘Caseworker to Senator Kelly and also an artist, I see.’ Natasha waves languidly towards the sketch pad open on the coffee table.

‘Caseworker is really just a fancy word for minion or lackey, and I think I had a little bit of help landing the job if I’m honest, but you’d probably know more about that than me,’ Darcy responds, wondering as she says it why she always feels the need to qualify it, trivialise her achievement as if she hadn’t earned it. She presses her lips together and stares at her visitor in silence. Further elaboration seems redundant anyway given that she is certain that Natasha will have already done an extensive background check.

‘And how did you and Steve meet?’ Natasha says and Darcy is helplessly reminded of a maiden aunt cooing over a new relationship. A maiden aunt who could easily kill her if she gives the wrong answer. 

‘In an art gallery,’ Darcy responds a little shortly. She is confused by this visit and has no idea how much Steve would want her to share. Darcy is separate from Steve’s work, from his Captain America persona and she has no illusions that that is part of her appeal. Perhaps it is truly just idle curiosity that has brought Natasha to her apartment, but she is affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D. and there is something searching in Natasha’s eyes, a watchful interest that Darcy can’t interpret but she mistrusts. There is also a glint of amusement that sparks at Darcy’s brief answer.

‘Are you dating?’

‘Steve? No,’ Darcy says, shaking her head. ‘We’re just friends.’

‘Just friends?’ Natasha raises an eyebrow.

‘We go to galleries together, have lunch occasionally. I send him pictures of puppies, he likes those,’ Darcy finds herself volunteering and then wants to bite her tongue. Who knew a single raised eyebrow could be such a successful interrogation technique?

‘Sounds a lot like dating to me,’ Natasha observes.

‘Well, it’s not,’ Darcy snaps defensively. ‘That’s not what either of us are looking for.’

Natasha gives a speculative little hum and Darcy wonders how much she knows, if her background check covered New Mexico and London or if those details have been redacted. How Darcy’s earlier experiences of a thousand year old God of Thunder meant a hundred year old super soldier barely registered on her Crazy-shit-o-meter.

‘There’s a lot of women out there, and men for that matter, who would jump at the opportunity to take a trip to an art exhibition with Captain America,’ Natasha says, breaking into Darcy’s thoughts.

Somehow she manages to make the statement sound like an innuendo.

‘I imagine they’d have more fun with Steve,’ Darcy says and then grimaces. Now it’s in her head even that sounds suggestive.

‘True,’ Natasha acknowledges and there’s satisfaction in the small smile that graces her face. She hums quietly and then says, ‘And you also know Thor?’ making it clear that certain details had not been redacted. It’s not really a question but Darcy gives a sharp nod. ‘That’s quite the Avengers collection you’ve got going.’ Her expression is uncomfortably arch and Darcy bristles at the implication.

‘Just in the right place at the right time,’ she bites out. ‘Or wrong place at the wrong time in the case of Thor and the shitstorm that seems to follow him around. Thor’s a great guy but I’d rather not have to deal with his dysfunctional family and ancient enemies.’

‘I can see that you’ve at least learned some discretion this time around.’

Darcy grimaces and just shrugs. In her defence she hadn’t known that Thor was an alien god king when she posted those pictures on Facebook. Just a weird, rather cut, homeless guy. It hadn’t been up there long, S.H.I.E.L.D. had seen to that.

An uncomfortable moment of silence follows as Natasha stares at her with narrowed eyes. Darcy does her best not to fidget, nor outright flinch when Natasha sweeps to her feet. ‘You can tell Steve that I have taken steps to keep your association off S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar,’ she says.

Looking up at her Darcy says quietly, ‘But you’ll be watching him? Us?’

‘Of course, but only for your protection. It’s good for Steve to have somewhere that he can be himself, can take off the mask for a bit, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it remains that way,’ Natasha says before moving towards the door and opening it with a click. She looks back at Darcy. ‘It would probably be best though if you don’t go to Steve’s apartment, ears everywhere you know,’ she says cryptically before disappearing silently through the door, pulling it shut behind her.

Darcy can only stare, bemused, at the closed door.

_What. The. Fuck?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Washington DC - September 2014**

Steve opens his eyes carefully and scans the room. Sam has disappeared, his magazine discarded on the empty chair, but the music is still playing softly and its gentle rhythm is soothing, the beeping of the heart monitor less so. Taking stock Steve breathes deeply and finds the earlier sharp agony has lessened to something more manageable. He stretches out his leg and feels the dull throb of the gunshot in his thigh. His head still aches but he is healing quickly and it reassures him.

He is examining the barely healed cuts across the back of his knuckles when someone clears their throat and he glances up sharply.

Darcy is standing uncertainly in the doorway.

‘Hey Steve,’ she says with a pained smile.

‘Hey Darcy,’ he says, stretching out a hand to draw her in. She follows the motion of his hand and moves forward, placing the abandoned magazine onto the table and seating herself on the chair at his bedside. She stares at him for a long moment and then shakes her head.

‘Man, I hope you feel better than you look,’ she says.

‘Thanks, Darcy, that’s really helpful,’ he responds dryly.

‘I just meant you look really bad, so…’

‘Yeah, I got that,’ he interrupts her. Seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and then he coughs painfully.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asks, sounding immediately contrite.

‘Thirsty, and a bit like I’ve been run over by a hellicarrier.’

‘Yeah, from what Natasha told me, that’s pretty much what happened,’ Darcy says getting up and pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the side. She pops a straw into the glass and leans over to place it to Steve’s lips. He gratefully gulps the liquid down, easing his parched throat. Leaning his head back on the pillows he closes his eyes for a moment.

‘Ah, Natasha, of course. She the reason you knew where to find me?’

‘She rang me an hour or so ago,’ Darcy explains. ‘Thought you might appreciate a visit.’

‘She wasn’t wrong,’ he says softly and then bites his lip. ‘You see the news?’

‘See the news? I practically had front row seats.’ When she catches his alarmed and guilty gaze she rolls her eyes. ‘It’s okay, my office is a few blocks away but we were fine.’ She reaches out and catches his hand in hers. It feels nice. ‘Did you get arrested?’ she says.

Steve grimaces and sighs. ‘Sort of. It’s a long story.’

‘Yeah, it looked bad. We watched the footage after everything had calmed down a bit.’ Her eyes drop to their clasped hands and when she looks back up her expression is apprehensive. ‘Steve, that guy on the bridge with the serious BDSM vibes? He looked exactly like…’

Steve cuts her off quickly, he knows what she is getting at. He can look up ‘BDSM’ later.

‘Yeah, he did. He is.’

There is a long silence and then Darcy says quietly, ‘How is that even possible?’

‘I don’t know,’ Steve says grimly. ‘But I intend to find out.’

There is another long pause and then she finally says hesitantly, ‘Steve, not to burst your bubble but he was giving off some pretty homicidal overtones as well. Didn’t much look like he’d be up for reminiscing about the good old days over a beer.’

Steve’s ribs twinge as he sighs heavily. ‘I don’t know what they did to him. He didn’t remember who he was but then he pulled me out the river, saved my life. I’ve got to find him.’

She is quiet for a moment. When she finally speaks all she says is, ‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’

‘Would it make any difference if I suggested that this might be a bad idea,’ she says and he can see she is suppressing a rueful smile.

‘Probably not,’ he admits sheepishly.

She makes a little humming noise but he can’t tell if it is satisfaction or disgruntlement and then she says in a stage whisper, ‘So who’s Sam?’

‘Sam?’ Steve says stupidly, bewildered by the sudden change of subject.

‘Natasha said Sam was with you. So who’s Sam?’ She glances round the room. ‘And where is he?’

Steve hears the gentle scuff of footsteps outside in the corridor halting rather suspiciously.

He grins. ‘You know he’s listening,’ he says with a nod towards the door.

‘So save the bad stuff for when he’s gone,’ she responds without a blink.

‘He’s a friend. Used to be in the Airforce and now he counsels at the VA. He’s been helping us out the last few days.’

‘Manly and yet also sensitive, that’s a potent combination. And can I assume that the excellent music is his doing?’ Her tone is almost flirtatious and Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. 

‘Yeah it is!’ Sam pipes up from the doorway, his brown eyes bright with interest. Darcy chuckles and unselfconsciously moves towards him to shake his hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Darcy. Can’t say I’m massively impressed by your ability to keep Steve out of trouble,’ she says with a nod towards Steve. ‘Can’t you at least _try_ to encourage him to be more careful?’

‘Hey, I’m always careful,’ Steve says indignantly as Sam laughs.

‘No, you’re not, Steve. Sometimes you’re a reckless idiot,’ Darcy says, not even sparing him a glance. Sam gives another loud snort of laughter and pats the back of her hand still clasped in his, smiling warmly. 

Steve narrows his eyes at his friends, especially when Sam shrugs and says in a long suffering tone. ‘I do my best but I’m not going to lie, it’s a near impossible task.’

Darcy nods solemnly. ‘I know, all I ask is that you try.’

By the time she takes her leave Darcy and Sam appear to be on track to becoming fast friends and though Steve is smiling there is a little burn in his chest at their light-hearted, slightly flirty, banter that he chooses to ignore. Sam waits until she is out of earshot and then gives a low whistle through his teeth.

‘Where have you been hiding her, Cap?’

Steve blinks uncertainly and struggles to straighten up but the pain in his stomach makes him gasp and desist his wriggling.

‘Um…’ he says intelligently.

‘No wonder you’ve been ignoring all Nat’s efforts at matchmaking. Good for you, man.’

‘It’s not…she’s not…we’re just friends,’ Steve says a little stiffly.

Sam gives him an odd look. ‘Really?’ His tone is faintly incredulous. ‘Pretty thing like that and you haven’t even tried to…’ He doesn’t finish the sentence, just raises a suggestive eyebrow.

‘I’ve not really thought about it,’ Steve says and it’s true but even so he can feel the back of his neck heating in a blush.

‘Man, all those knocks to the head must have affected your eyesight,’ Sam says with a sad shake of his head. ‘She got a boyfriend?’ he asks with a speculative gleam in his eye, and when he sees Steve’s flushed cheeks and the compressed line of his lips, he sighs. ‘That’s a real shame.’

For some reason Steve doesn’t bother to correct his misapprehension.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were interested, the title of this fic comes from the song 'Almost Lover' by A Fine Frenzy.
> 
> And thank you so much to everyone who has commented or left kudos, I'm glad you are enjoying all the fluffy Darcy and Steve fun.

**Washington DC - September 2015**

‘You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?’ Steve says as he watches Darcy water her plants with a little pink watering can, each plant receiving a murmured endearment, her fingers trailing gently over green leaves. She doesn’t answer for a moment and then turns, her face twitching as if she is schooling her expression.

‘Maybe,’ she acknowledges, the corner of her mouth curving upwards. Steve rolls his eyes and goes back to his drawing.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh that hard,’ he comments, glancing back at her.

She shrugs and turns back to a little tray of seedlings, just starting to peak above the soil. He can see the slight tremor in her shoulders.

‘Darcy!’ he admonishes her.

‘What? It was really funny,’ she protests without turning around. Steve can’t help but smile fondly as he watches her try, and fail, to control her amusement. He has to admit seeing a drunk guy attempt to catch a fly ball only to fall into the row in front and dump his beer over the head of an unsuspecting woman was pretty funny, but Steve had tried to maintain a sympathetic expression while Darcy had gone to pieces at his side.

‘I can’t believe I finally get you to a baseball game and the most entertaining part for you was someone falling over.’

‘That’s not true, I liked the throwing bit and the batty bit. Oh, and the beer lady was lovely,’ she says with a wide grin. ‘I’m still not entirely sure how the Nationals were losing the whole way through and then suddenly won in the last five minutes of the game, but still, it was fun.’

‘I already explained that…’ Steve stops, there is a teasing glint in her eyes and he realises she is taunting him. He gives her a stern glare and then lifts a quizzical brow as her expression turns pensive. 

‘Are you back for a while?’ she says, biting her lip, her amusement suddenly fled. He can tell that she has been holding back the question until they could talk freely.

Steve sighs and hunches his shoulders before forcing himself to relax. He nods.

‘Yeah, I think so. That last mission was just the start, Tony’s been mining all the information we have on Hydra and we’re going to start targeting more potential bases, see if we can cut off a few more heads,’

‘You’ve got to cauterise those stumps,’ she says almost under her breath. ‘And Bucky?’

‘He doesn’t want to be found. I guess it’s time to accept that and hope that eventually he’ll come to me. I’m pretty sure he knows I’ve been tracking him all this time and I still haven’t found him, that’s got to tell me something.’

Darcy looks at him with sympathy in her eyes. ‘I guess he just needs some time.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ He sighs again.

‘I’m sorry you couldn’t find him but I’m glad you’re coming home for a spell. I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ Steve says with a slow smile. Darcy ducks her head with a pleased blush and plucks a dead frond off a hanging fern.

‘You going to be staying in the upstate facility?’

‘All my things are already there,’ Steve says with a nod. ‘I can train and there’s Intel to go through, plus then I’m on site when there’s a mission.’

She hums lightly. ‘Makes sense. And you’re only a few hours drive from here, so that’s nice.’ She places the watering can down on the floor and pads over to the couch. Giving him a little shove to move him over she unfurls a navy blue blanket that he has been sitting on and drapes it over her lap.

‘Whatcha drawing?’ she says leaning over to peer at his sketch pad. Steve almost closes it before she can get a proper look but instead he pushes it into her hands and waits, palms a little clammy. Darcy takes the book from him gleefully and turns it over.

‘What do we…?’ She stops and a hush falls. Steve looks up and sees her eyes are wide and her lips parted. ‘Is this me?’ she says quietly. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

‘Yeah, it’s how you looked at the game, after the guy fell.’

‘Steve,’ she says in a reverential tone, ‘This is really beautiful.’ She looks oddly embarrassed and he reaches out a hand to take the pad back from her, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She snatches it away with a shake of her head.

‘No way, mister, I’m keeping this.’

‘You really like it?’ he asks.

‘Like it? I love it! You went seriously overboard on the flattery, or artistic Photoshop, or whatever you’d call it, but I’m definitely not complaining.’

Steve blinks. It’s not overdone, it’s just how she looked, relaxed and beaming, eyes crinkling in amusement. But he doesn’t say that, or anything like that, he just says, ‘It’s yours if you want it.’

‘Yes, I want it. I going to frame it and put it by my bed, and every day when I wake up I’m going to remember that I’m a stone cold hottie.’

‘You know the words ‘stone cold hottie’ make no sense whatsoever.’

‘Shut up, Steve. I’m hot and you can’t take that away from me,’ Darcy responds airily, flashing the drawing at him with a smug grin. He just shakes his head at her but she ignores him, still admiring her picture.

‘Tony’s having a party on Saturday,’ he says once she has placed the sketch pad tenderly on the coffee table. ‘You could come up to New York if you like, it might even be fun.’

Darcy eyes him narrowly. ‘Are you just hoping I’ll protect you from Tony?’

‘No,’ he immediately denies but it sounds fake even to his ears. ‘Just thought you might like the open bar.’

Her smile tells him she is not convinced. ‘The open bar is tempting, but you know I can’t.’

‘There are ways to avoid all the paparazzi.’

‘So how are you going to get me in?’

His mouth twitches and he raises an eyebrow. ‘Figured I’d sneak you in the back,’ he admits slowly.

Darcy clutches her chest dramatically. ‘Oh my days! Captain America involved in subterfuge?’

He flicks at her nose and she shies away laughing.

‘Yeah, it happens more than you’d think,’ he says. ‘What do you say then?’

Darcy folds her hands in her lap. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to meet your friends yet, that’s quite an intimating line-up. Besides, I think I quite like being your dirty little secret.’ She grins at him.

‘That’s a rubbish excuse, and anyway you’re not a dirty secret. Sam and Nat know about you.’

‘Yes,’ she acknowledges. ‘I sometimes wonder what it is they think you get up to when you’re here. What dark secrets they think you’re hiding, what deviant kinks they think I satisfy for you. BDSM? Daddy kink? Ooh, maybe Adult Baby? Although if that’s your thing and everyone’s a consenting adult I’m definitely not here to kink shame you.’ She pauses momentarily in her rambling and then says quickly, ‘God, promise me you won’t google any of those terms! The press would have a field day if anyone got hold of your search history.’

Steve can feel his face heating up. He’s already googled BDSM but _only_ because Darcy had said it and he didn’t recognise the term. It was an eye-opening foray but not one he is in any rush to repeat. Probably.

‘Nat knows it’s not like that,’ he protests.

Darcy smirks. ‘You think? I told her all kinds of things when she gave me that totally unnecessary shovel talk. None of them were true of course but who knows if she believed me or not.’ She winks at him.

‘She would’ve known you were lying,’ he says with a stern look for her mocking. She grins unrepentantly and rests her head against the back of the couch. ‘Thor’s going to be there,’ Steve tries again.

Darcy gives a nonchalant wave of her hand. ‘I saw him the other day when Jane came for a visit before her tour and though it was lovely to see him, I’m not sure I can take much more of his none too subtle bragging on Jane’s behalf about her Nobel prize nomination.’ She gives him a sidelong glance. ‘You better not breathe a word of that to anyone. It’s adorable that he is so proud of her but man, it’s exhausting.’

‘My lips are sealed,’ Steve promises solemnly, making a mental note to avoid Thor unless he wants to hear chapter and verse of Jane’s exploits. ‘So, are you going to come?’ he says after a moment of silence.

Darcy grins and shakes her head. ‘I’ve got a ton of work to get through. I think I’ll just slob around in my pjs, eat pizza, read some reports. It’s going to be wild.’ She snuggles more fully under the blanket and looks smug.

‘I hate you.’

‘No, you don’t,’ she says, poking his leg with her foot. ‘You’re just jealous. Which is weird.’

Steve runs a hand through his hair and groans. ‘Yeah, I am. You know Tony’s going to spend the entire night mixing up increasingly disgusting concoctions in a redundant effort to get me drunk.’

‘You could just not drink them,’ she suggests.

‘I know you’ve not met Tony, but believe me when I say, that is not an option.’

Darcy chuckles. ‘Poor Steve, being forced to go to one of Tony Stark’s legendary parties, what a hardship.’

‘I just said you could come…’

‘Say hi to Natasha for me,’ is all she says.

‘Traitor,’ he mutters in a long suffering tone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Washington DC - September 2015**

Steve looks wrecked when he arrives on her doorstep, a haunted look in his eyes that she hasn’t seen before. He leans against the doorframe looking uneasy, as if he is unsure of his welcome, and Darcy stands back from the door and waves him in. Kicking his boots off by the door he drops his bag distractedly on top of them. There’s coffee just brewed in the kitchen and she pours him a cup, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he slumps heavily onto the couch, picking at his thumbnail and still worryingly and completely silent. She fills the silence with some inconsequential talk.

‘Dad called today and I told him about my Etsy site. He seemed sort of cautiously optimistic which was unexpected. I know he doesn’t think cartoonist is a real job but the fact I’m making a tiny bit of money from it has elevated it from the realm of hobby,’ she says. Steve doesn’t answer, not that she is really expecting him to.

When she hands him the coffee cup he takes it with a grateful nod, although his expression is distant. Darcy perches on the edge of the coffee table, facing him, and rests her elbows on her knees.

‘World saved?’ she says with a half-smile.

Steve grunts an affirmative and sips his coffee, barely meeting her eye.

‘The team’s okay?’

He nods shortly and Darcy wrinkles her nose at his reticence.

‘Bruce left,’ Steve volunteers quietly.

‘Left? Where’s he gone?’

He shrugs and Darcy restrains herself from sighing. She knows he’ll crack eventually, it just takes him a while to process all his thoughts to the point that he can talk.

‘Some people didn’t make it,’ he says sadly.

‘Civilians?’

He presses his lips together and nods before looking down at the hands that grip his coffee cup a little too tightly. Darcy’s heart aches for him but she knows better than to try to console him. Despite the fact he almost certainly saved more lives than were lost, each and every death Steve takes as a personal affront. She doesn’t think there will ever be a time when Steve stops blaming himself for those he couldn’t save, stops carrying the weight of every failure on his broad shoulders.

‘Something weird happened,’ he says and then purses his lips.

‘Just the one thing?’ Darcy responds lightly.

He looks up and the corner of his mouth gives a brief twitch. Darcy counts that as a win and rests her chin on her hands.

‘You want to talk about it?’ she says softly.

Steve frowns and looks mulish, the muscle in his jaw twitching and Darcy leans back, bracing her hands on the table top, waiting. Steve huffs an exasperated sigh and runs a rough hand through his hair.

‘There’s this girl, Wanda,’ he says eventually and then stops. Patiently she continues to wait. It doesn’t take long to be rewarded. ‘She has powers, did something to our minds. Gave us visions.’

‘What kind of visions?’

His jaw is twitching again and she can sense the maelstrom of emotion being held in check by that one muscle. He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at his lap.

‘I don’t know about the others but she showed me…’ His voice cracks and he swallows. ‘She showed me Peggy.’

Darcy’s fingers tremble against the coffee table as she fights the urge to reach for him, not wanting to disrupt his train of thought now he has begun.

‘The war was over and Peggy was there and we were dancing.’ He looks up at her and his eyes are red and bright with the sheen of unshed tears. ‘And it was perfect and then she was gone,’ he says hoarsely.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if his immense strength can somehow hold back the flow of tears. It can’t, and Darcy watches as a tear creeps under his hand and slides a wet trail down his cheek. She reaches forward, unable to restrain herself any longer, and smooths the tear from his jaw. Steve jerks at her touch but when she draws her hand away he catches it and clutches her fingers convulsively.

‘I’m sorry, it just…it just seemed so real. Like for a few minutes I could have everything I’d ever wanted.’ The words stumble painfully from his lips and there’s a tightness in Darcy’s chest like she could cry too because she hates to see her friend hurting.

‘It’s like I just lost her, and Bucky, and everyone all over again,’ Steve manages to say and then he bows his head, his shoulders shuddering, one hand fisted in the fabric of his jeans, as his anguish overtakes him. There’s something daunting in seeing him so shattered and Darcy feels both vicarious sorrow for him, and a harsh burning anger towards those that brought him to this point. She slides down next to him and puts her arms around his shoulders, tugging him towards her. He resists for a second, stiffening briefly, but then he collapses into her embrace and sobs, heartbroken and crushed.

Darcy holds him silently, stroking soothing circles on his back, running a caressing hand over the soft strands of his hair, until he gradually quietens, the outpouring of his grief calming.

He sniffs and when he speaks again without lifting his head his voice is hoarse with emotion. ‘I felt like I was making progress, slowly moving on. Learning to live in this world and not constantly pining for what could have been, but now…it feels like I just came out the ice.’

‘You _are_ making progress and taking a couple of steps back doesn’t mean all that progress is lost forever,’ Darcy hastens to reassure him. She bites her lip, trying to find some words to comfort him. ‘Grief is complicated, don’t beat yourself up because you’re not coming to terms with things as quickly as you think you should. Just focus on the things that get you through.’

He tips his head back and looks at her. His eyes are red rimmed and there is a strange expression on his face that she can’t read. She gives him a sad smile and cups his face gently.

‘You’ve got so many people now who care about you, let them help you,’ she says vehemently.

As she stares at him a little wrinkle appears between his brows, like he is trying to solve some ticklish problem. His frown deepens and he inhales a sharp breath before leaning forward and clumsily pressing his lips to hers.

Steve’s lips are dry, the kiss rushed and fumbling. For a moment Darcy can’t move, can’t think of anything but how desperately she wants to respond, kiss him back with everything she has, but instead she pushes him sharply away. He offers no resistance, slumping back against the couch, face flushed. Standing quickly, Darcy turns from him and the dismay evident in his eyes, and tries to calm the rapid beat of her heart.

She loves him, she realises in those fraught seconds. Loves this kind, sweet, brave and beautiful man. Has loved him for longer than she cares to admit. She takes a couple of stilted paces, hands clenching impotently at her sides, while she inwardly curses the stupidity of her fragile heart. Curses her failure to see this coming, her failure to shield herself from the pain of loving a man whose heart belongs to someone else.

‘Shit,’ she hears Steve mutter. ‘Darcy, I’m sorry. I didn’t think…I just…I didn’t mean to…’

Darcy understands. He didn’t mean to kiss her, it was just a misguided appeal for solace. A way of forgetting his misery for a short while. She doesn’t blame him, but she can’t help but wish she could be more, that there was some way she could live up to the memory of Peggy Carter, so that Steve might look at her the way he looks at that picture in his compass. The sting of tears behind her eyes pulls her from her reverie. She presses her fingers to her eyelids and takes a deep breath. She will not cry. Not in front of Steve.

‘Darcy?’ It’s a desperate whisper.

There is little she can do but turn back to him. He is on his feet and looks both mortified and fearful. Darcy pastes a neutral expression on her face.

‘I think you may have misunderstood me, Steve,’ she says, marvelling at the steadiness of her tone. ‘I care about you because you’re my _friend.’_ She puts special emphasis on the word but she is not sure if she is reminding him or herself.

Steve grips the back of the couch, and looks at her beseechingly. ‘I know, Darcy. I’m sorry. I just thought for a second that if I could forget…but it was selfish and stupid.’

‘I won’t be used by you, Steve,’ she says quietly.

He looks absolutely horrified. ‘God, no. I’m so sorry. I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I? Can you forgive me?’

Darcy regards him steadily for a moment. He is barely moving as if holding his breath. It takes every ounce of her self-possession to eventually nod and reach out a hand to him. It surprises her that it remains steady. When he takes it his grasp is warm but tentative and he is biting his lip, a visible manifestation of his anxiety.

‘It’d take a bit more than one ill-advised attempted kiss to ruin this friendship,’ she says. ‘Not that you should see that as a challenge,’ she continues, waggling an admonitory finger at him. She squeezes his hand and he gives her a relieved smile before pulling her cautiously into a hug.

‘I’m sorry, Darcy,’ he says into her hair.

‘You dope,’ she says fondly and feels his arms tighten around her.

His friendship is more than enough, Darcy silently assures herself, resting her cheek against his chest. The idea of a life without Steve is something that she refuses to contemplate and she represses a tiny shudder at the thought as she lets him hold her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Washington DC - March 2016**

**_Darcy:_ ** _I hope the funeral was as good as these things can be. Sorry, everything I write just sounds inadequate under the circumstances but I’m thinking of you. Call me when you can._

 **_Darcy:_ ** _Steve, you seriously need to turn on a news channel right now._

* * *

The courier gets her name wrong and looks as if he should have retired about twenty years ago but Darcy barely notices, thanking him absently and bringing the package into her apartment. She tears it open and tips the contents onto the counter. A dated black flip phone clatters out, followed by an envelope. The note inside is short and to the point, and there is only one number programmed into the phone - Steve’s. She stares at both items uncertainly for a time.

Should she call him? Or wait for him to call her?

It is ridiculous that she is so conflicted. He is not a suitor, a date that she is trying to play it cool with, this is Steve. Admittedly Steve now appears to be a fugitive from the government after a well-publicised disagreement between him and Tony destroyed an airport in Germany but still, it shouldn’t be this hard. Maybe it is best to wait for him to call her. Sighing, she rests her forehead against the cool surface of the counter top and closes her eyes.

The phone suddenly gives a piercing trill and Darcy almost drops it on the floor in her fumbling haste to answer.

‘Hello?’

‘Darcy?’ It’s Steve’s voice and he sounds exhausted.

‘What did the affordable air travel industry ever do to you?’

He snorts. ‘Have you seen the legroom? It’s a travesty.’

It is her turn to laugh but she quickly sobers. ‘Are you safe?’

‘Yes, I’m safe.’

‘I heard the others were arrested?’ She doesn’t elaborate further but she knows it isn’t necessary.

‘Their incarceration was a short term arrangement.’

‘Interesting,’ she muses. ‘That wasn’t the impression the government spokesperson gave.’

‘Yeah, well we may have disagreed on that point.’ She can almost see his bashful shrug as he casually confirms that he has broken four people out of what was presumably an extremely high security facility.

‘It’s not been reported.’

‘I’m not surprised. They’ll probably try to keep it as quiet as possible.’

‘And Bucky?’

Steve is quiet for a moment. ‘He’s…safe,’ he says eventually. She is not quite sure why the hesitation but she doesn’t question it.

‘What happened, Steve?’ she asks.

He sighs heavily. ‘God, it’s such a mess, Darcy,’ he says dejectedly, and then he tells her. By the time he has finished she is curled up under a blanket with a cup of coffee, silently appalled by all that he has told her.

‘Tony’s back, I saw him on the news,’ she says in the quiet that follows.

‘Yeah, I know. He looks okay?’ Darcy doesn’t think he means it to but it comes out as a question.

‘He looks fine. No lasting damage,’ she reassures him.

‘He really thought I was going to kill him,’ Steve says sadly. ‘I couldn’t let him kill Bucky but I was just trying to stop him.’

‘Maybe when he’s had a bit of time to cool off he’ll realise that,’ she says gently.

‘Yeah,’ he says in a despondent tone. ‘I hope so. I sent him a phone too, so he knows…so he knows I’m here if he needs me.’

‘You’ve got to be prepared that he might not forgive Bucky for killing his parents though.’

‘Bucky didn’t kill them,’ he objects. ‘He was under Hydra’s control, it wasn’t him.’

‘I know that, Steve, but Tony might not be able to be as objective.’

There is a short pause and she imagines him pensively chewing on his lip, then he asks, ‘Did you forgive the guy who killed Dan?’

Darcy plucks absent-mindedly at the fraying edge of her blanket, formulating her thoughts before she answers. ‘Not for a long while. I went to his sentencing to gloat. I was going to look him in the eye when they sent him to prison and smile.’

‘But?’

‘But he looked so devastated, cried when they spoke about Dan and just nodded when they passed sentence. He killed Dan but his own life was ruined too and that didn’t make me feel vindicated, it just made me sad.’ She sighs at the memory. ‘But Tony’s not me, he might never get to that point and you can’t really blame him.’

There is a rustle of Steve running frustrated hands through his hair. ‘Yeah, I can’t,’ he finally admits wearily. Darcy gets up from the sofa and refills her cup from the coffee pot.

‘I kissed Sharon,’ Steve announces suddenly.

The sharp stab to her gut Darcy feels is definitely jealousy. She puts her cup down the counter. She’s never met Sharon but Steve had told her when the pretty nurse next door turned out to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent tasked with his protection, and the picture of her that Darcy has built up in her mind is intimidating to say the least, a beautiful and frighteningly competent badass. 

Though it’s mean spirited Darcy can’t help that her next words are, ‘Sharon? The agent who was spying on you?’ It comes out sharper than she means it to and she hopes that Steve doesn’t notice the trace of antagonism in her tone.

Steve huffs uncomfortably. ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’ He pauses, then says in a rush. ‘She’s Peggy’s niece.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

She can picture him now, rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he’s uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to say. He’s probably blushing too. She wants to be supportive, she really does, he deserves all the happiness, but it seems out of character for him and coming when it does, on the back of Peggy’s funeral, she wonders if he’s got his head on straight. Then she feels disloyal for thinking that, if this is what he wants then she shouldn’t be judging his decisions.

‘I don’t know why I did it,’ he says.

‘Do you like her?’ Darcy asks although she really doesn’t want to know the answer, unless the answer is a flat denial.

‘Maybe, I don’t know. She’d been really helpful, it just seemed like the right thing to do.’

Darcy can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes her. ‘Only you would somehow be able to make kissing the girl you like a moral imperative.’

He laughs softly too and then says, ‘Hey kettle, meet pot.’

‘If you are referring to the incident with Ian,’ she says with dignity, ‘I’d like to remind you that he’d just saved my life.’

‘Well, Sharon had just helped me save Bucky’s so…’ he trails off.

‘So really, Bucky should have been the one kissing her.’

He huffs out a laugh. ‘Probably, would have been better at it too.’

‘Aw, Steve, I’m sure you were great.’

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

Damn it, she’s thinking about it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Washington DC - January 2017**

There is a black rucksack lying by the couch, a black rucksack that Darcy has never seen before, and what she had assumed was her neighbour’s shower running she belatedly realises is her own.

Someone is in her apartment, having a shower?

She creeps to the kitchen, opens the drawer very carefully and slides out a large knife. Having a weapon in her hand makes her feel a tiny bit better. She tiptoes over to the bathroom door. The whole situation feels like a bad horror movie, the running shower, blood splashed up the walls, a body lying in the tub perhaps? She gives herself a shake, her imagination is running riot, quelling all logic and sense. She slowly slips her hand over the door knob and carefully opens the door. There is definitely someone in her shower, whistling as if they don’t have a care in the world. The bathroom mirror is foggy but there are no chilling words revealed on its surface and no signs of major blood loss.

‘I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got about ten seconds to get the hell out of my apartment before I call the police,’ she says in a low but carrying voice, wishing as she does so that she had had the forethought to actually pick up her phone or, more importantly, her taser. 

The whistling cuts off abruptly and the person in the shower freezes.

‘Darcy? Is that you?’

Later she can only blame the fact that she hasn’t seen or heard from him in over a month and a complete short circuiting of all her neurons for what she does next.

‘Steve?’ she says, striding across the room, knife still in hand, and whipping aside the shower curtain with a beaming smile.

A very alarmed and very naked Steve Rogers meets her eyes, trying desperately to cover himself with a corner of the shower curtain and a bottle of shampoo. Darcy drops the knife and redundantly covers her mouth with her hands and it is only at that point that her brain catches up with her actions.

‘Jesus, Darcy!’

She spins around, rather belatedly covering her eyes.

‘God, sorry. I didn’t think. It’s been over a month,’ she tries to explain. ‘Sorry! I like the beard.’ She’s babbling, but seriously, who could keep their cool when presented with a dripping wet Steve Rogers?

‘Really? The beard’s what you noticed?’ He sounds almost affronted. She hears him pull the curtain shut again. ‘Can you give me five minutes?’

‘Sure, sorry. I’ll be outside,’ she says, picking up the knife and scrambling over his discarded clothes that she utterly failed to notice in her headlong rush. She staggers out the door, shutting it with a sharp click and leans her head against the doorframe, trying to dispel the delicious image of Steve in the shower that her brain is lovingly recreating in gorgeous technicolour. She knocks her forehead against the wood with a groan and would have repeated the action a little harder had it not been at the moment that her brain adds in the look of absolute horror on Steve’s face when she had pulled back the curtain, knife raised aloft.

She starts to giggle.

She is still giggling when Steve finally emerges from the bathroom, regrettably fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with a very pink ears and a sheepish smile on his face.

‘Oh God, your face!’ she laughs, clutching her stomach.

‘Why the hell did you have a knife?’ he says, folding his arms defensively across his chest though his lips are twitching as if he is struggling to suppress a smile.

‘There was an intruder in my apartment.’

‘You get a lot of intruders that break in to your apartment and then take a shower?’

‘Did you break in?’

‘I may have picked the lock,’ he admits.

‘Ooh, Natasha’s been teaching you new tricks?’

‘If you say anything about old dogs, we are no longer friends.’

‘The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,’ she says innocently.

‘Liar,’ he says with a grin. Darcy rises from her seat and grabs him around the waist, pulling him into a hug.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she says. ‘Is it safe for you to be here?’

He tightens his arms around her shoulders and she is absolutely _not_ thinking about droplets of water sliding slowly down the muscular planes of his stomach. He leans his cheek against the top of her head and sighs.

‘As safe as anywhere is right now.’

‘And everyone’s okay?’

‘Yeah, everyone’s okay.’ It’s about as much as he is ever willing to tell her and she knows better than to push him for news.

Instead she pulls back and eyes him narrowly. ‘You look tired.’

‘I am tired,’ he admits. ‘Better now I’ve had a shower though, it’s been a few days.’

‘Nice,’ she says dryly. ‘You want something to eat?’

‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he says, ducking his head diffidently. She rolls her eyes at him and he gives her a little squeeze and steps back.

‘Still an international fugitive then?’ she says rubbing his arm as she passes before moving to the kitchen and pulling open the fridge.

‘Yeah, afraid so. Apparently the government aren’t willing to forgive and forget the whole prison break thing.’

Darcy tuts. ‘God, you break four people out of a maximum security prison and they never let you hear the end of it. Pasta and garlic bread okay?’

Taking his vague hum as an affirmative she turns the oven on and puts some water on to boil.

‘Is this me?’

Looking up she sees that he is standing in front of her sketch pad scrutinising her latest work and she feels her cheeks warm. She started it a couple of weeks ago to ease her anxious frustration at his radio silence.

‘No, it’s one of my other fugitive friends. I’ve quite the collection now.’ He flashes her a quick smile and returns to his inspection, fingers trailing carefully over the inked lines of the cartoon. ‘Don’t touch it,’ she says in an amused tone as she watches him.

‘Never,’ he says distractedly, drawing his hands away and stuffing them in his pockets. His pose is almost identical to that of the picture, head dipped low, but in the picture it is shame rather than contemplation that bows his head while a tiny irate Darcy berates him for some imagined slight. ‘What did I do?’

‘You didn’t call me for a month or more,’ she responds with a shrug. Steve glances up guiltily and his face softens when he sees her understanding smile.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says and then his gaze sharpens again. ‘What are you wearing?’

Darcy glances down at her horrible mustard coloured waitress uniform, too tight on the bust and too short in the skirt. She had almost forgotten she was wearing it.

‘My uniform,’ she answers casually. ‘I decided a change in career was in order.’

Steve frowns and moves to the other side of the counter, concern etching lines in his brow.

‘What happened?’

‘Senator Kelly and I had a difference of opinion over the Accords so I quit. Well, I was fired.’ She pauses. ‘It was a mutual decision.’

‘So now you’re waitressing?’

‘No, I’m working for a campaign group against the Accords. Canvassing politicians for their support, organising protests and the like. It doesn’t pay so well so I do a few shifts at the diner to make up my rent.’ She shrugs a little awkwardly in the face of his worry. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Darcy, I’m sorry.’

‘Stop that, it’s not your fault, really. Senator Kelly is a narrow minded ass.’ The timer dings and Darcy drains the pasta, grateful for the distraction. She adds a tub of sauce, stirring it through to warm it, avoiding his gaze. The packaging claims it serves four but she doesn’t think that the makers have taken into account the appetite of Steven Grant Rogers.

‘You tell him that to his face?’ Steve asks with a sly grin.

‘That may have been a factor in the subsequent termination of my contract,’ she admits sheepishly. ‘Food’s ready,’ she says placing both the plate of pasta and the garlic bread on the counter for him. She uncaps a beer and sets it down as Steve seats himself on one of the stools and grins at her.

‘You are literally my favourite person right now,’ he says, tucking in with gusto. Darcy leans against the counter and uncaps a beer for herself.

‘Only right now? Wow, that’s cold.’

He is busy chewing so just pulls a face at her and then he swallows and looks at her uncertainly. ‘Do you want some?’

‘I just ate,’ she says with a shake of her head. Ripping off a chunk of garlic bread he eyes her intently.

‘Date?’

Darcy raises an incredulous brow. ‘In this monstrosity?’ she says, gesturing to her waitress uniform. ‘Hell, no! Just dinner with Will after my shift at the diner. He’s met someone.’

That intent look is back. ‘How do you feel about that?’

She tilts her head contemplatively. ‘Happy, happy for him. I don’t expect him to mourn Dan forever. If he has the chance to move on then he should take it,’ she says with a little sigh. When she looks up he gives her a sad smile and takes another mouthful of pasta.

‘I went to a demonstration yesterday, well, I organised a demonstration really,’ she tells him. He grunts his interest around his mouthful of food. ‘There’s quite a lot of people unhappy that the Government has made a criminal of their hero, not to mention the ethical considerations of requiring a section of society to register themselves with the Government. Lots of people in Captain America costumes, of varying quality,’ she snorts. ‘You could probably come in your suit and blend right in. It was fewer people than I would have hoped but the right-wing media are running a really excellent propaganda campaign.’

‘They do that,’ Steve responds, mopping up the rest of his sauce with the last chunk of bread.

‘Or it might have been because it was fucking freezing out. First flake of snow and all those hard held principles wither away.’

Steve quirks his lips and then breathes out a heavy sigh and Darcy can see his eyelids are drooping. She pushes off the counter with her hip and pats his arm.

‘Come on you, you need some sleep.’

For a moment he looks like he is going to deny it but then he nods sheepishly and mechanically follows her to her bedroom. When she stops by the bed he looks around in confusion until she pulls back the comforter impatiently.

‘I can sleep on the couch,’ he says awkwardly, glancing back to the living room.

‘Just get in, Steve. You look like it’s been a while since you slept in a proper bed.’

‘I can’t let you sleep on the couch,’ he protests.

‘I’ll just sleep there then,’ she says, nodding towards the other side of the bed. ‘Unless you think Captain America, beacon of righteousness and honour, has plans to steal my virtue?’

‘I’m not him anymore,’ Steve says, slightly woodenly.

‘So you do have plans to steal my virtue then?’ she says, raising her brows at him.

 _If only_.

‘I think I’m a bit late to that particular party, wouldn’t you say?’ he says with a lifted brow. She suppresses a smile, she’s pretty proud of him for that comeback, and just stares him down. ‘Fine,’ he says, rolling his eyes at her as he starts unbuttoning his jeans. Darcy averts her gaze as he slides them down his muscular thighs and folds them neatly over the chair in the corner, although probably not as swiftly as would have been polite. 

By the time she has recovered her composure he is slipping into bed, clad in his boxers and t-shirt, and Darcy pulls the covers over him.

Steve quirks a brow at her. ‘You tucking me in?’

‘Yeah,’ she says, tucking the sheets under his chin. ‘You want a bedtime story?’

He grins sleepily at her. ‘Yes, please.’

‘What about the wild adventures of Sergeant Studmuffin and his merry band of nanny goats?’

‘Sergeant Studmuffin? Oh, he’d love that,’ he says with a drowsy smile.

‘I bet. Now go to sleep, she says tapping the end of his nose with her fingertip. He catches her hand before she can move away.

‘Thank you, Darcy, for everything,’ he says earnestly.

She smiles gently at him for a moment, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, and then leans down and brushes a brief, tender kiss to his lips.

It only really dawns on her when she pulls back what she has just done and she feels heat rising in her cheeks. Steve’s eyes are closed, a contented smile on his face, seemingly undisturbed by her actions. He gives her fingers a quick squeeze and then releases her and Darcy snatches her hand back, trying to ignore the frantic beating of her heart.

‘Night, Steve,’ she manages to say in a slightly strangled tone. She almost trips over the corner of the bed as she crosses the room but manages to make it to the doorway without incident. Glancing over at Steve she can see that his eyes are still shut and his breathing has already slowed to the deep, even breaths of slumber. He lets out a snuffling snore and burrows a little further under the covers, curling onto his side.

Darcy sighs, closing the door quietly behind her, and presses the back of her hand to her lips, lost in thoughts that she has no business thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little homage to the brilliant series Fleabag in there, and an excuse to catch Steve in the shower, because who wouldn't want that?


	11. Chapter 11

**Route 95 - March 2018**

The bell above the door of the diner jangles noisily announcing a new customer and Steve glances up from his corner booth to see Darcy entering, her eyes narrowed menacingly at the gaily ringing bell. He watches her approach across the sparsely populated diner. She looks cagey and uncomfortable, glancing around suspiciously at the other patrons in a way that screams for attention. For the most part they ignore her presence as she passes and Steve can see some of the wariness in her frame relax.

‘Seriously, Steve, I can cope with military time but coordinates?’ she says by way of greeting, sliding into the seat opposite him. ‘You’re lucky GoogleMaps exists, otherwise I’d have had to stand you up.’

‘Sorry, force of habit,’ he apologises.

He notes that she is wearing a dark green dress that matches her eyes and he can’t remember if he has ever seen her in it before. Her hair is down, falling softly around her face and her eyes are darkened with eyeliner. He wonders if it is for him and finds he selfishly likes the idea that it might be.

‘Hi,’ she says softly and despite her brash opening manages to now look almost shy. 

‘Hi,’ he says. ‘You look nice.’ They are woefully inadequate words to describe her but it’s all he can manage.

She grimaces, picking up the menu and studying it while saying absently, ‘Thanks, I needed to hear that.’

Steve frowns.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

Darcy sighs and shakes her head. ‘Sorry, it’s stupid. Just a bad date the other night. I needed a bit of an ego boost.’

His heart gives a tiny shudder at the word ‘date’ which is ridiculous, she’s been on dates before. She’s told him all about the aforementioned dates and he never felt the anger that suddenly surges up from nowhere. Is it anger or jealousy? He can’t be sure.

‘What happened?’ he demands.

‘The guy got insulting when I told him that I’d had a nice time but I didn’t think that a second date was going to happen.’ She runs a weary hand over her eyes. ‘He kept talking about what a psycho his ex was. In my experience, if your ex is a psycho it’s more likely because of your own behaviour than innate psychosis, and _his_ behaviour only proved my point. I should have just ghosted him but I was trying to be polite.’ Giving herself a little shake she smiles tightly at him. ‘Anyway, my love life or lack of is hardly important.’

It feels important to Steve, but he ignores that and the feeling of relief that sweeps through him at the words ‘lack of’, unwilling to unravel that right now. Maybe later.

‘Well, if you need an ego boast I’m here for you,’ he says with a smile which she returns, her eyes crinkling.

‘Promises, promises…’ she says with a raised brow.

The waitress suddenly appears beside their table and Darcy flinches visibly.

‘What can I get you?’ the waitress says with a bored expression, barely making eye contact.

‘The cheeseburger, with everything, and a Coke,’ Steve says easily, allowing Darcy sometime to recover her equanimity.

When the waitress turns to her Darcy orders the same and he can almost feel her relief as the waitress moves away. She’s unusually jumpy but then they normally meet at her apartment, hidden from prying eyes. He’d only suggested this meeting place today because Natasha is suspicious of the lack of major threats and he’d promised her that he wouldn’t go far in case she needed him.

‘I feel like I should be taking you somewhere a bit classier than a diner, you being all dolled up like that.’

‘Steve, we’ve talked about the old timey slang before and I’m not ‘dolled up’, I just put on a tiny bit of makeup.’ He can’t help but smile at her long suffering tone and the exaggerated air quotes. ‘I’d rather have a burger anyway.’

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Am I allowed to say that you look pretty?’

She shoots him an odd look, her lips parted as if she is about to speak but she is silent and for a moment he is trapped by the questioning gaze of her green eyes. His chest feels oddly tight and he can feel a blush burning up the back of his neck.

The waitress slapping their drinks on the table provides him with a welcome distraction, breaking the inexplicable tension between them. Steve takes a long swig of his drink, fingers picking fretfully at the napkin beneath it. He doesn’t know what is wrong with him, why he’s being so awkward, but he can see that Darcy is picking up on it. He gives himself a shake and drops the shredded napkin. 

‘So, apart from a forgettable date, what’s new with you?’ he asks. She glances at him and then looks down at her drink, a small smile curving her lips.

‘I got a commission. There’s a little shop in Manhattan that wants to stock my cartoons on a permanent basis. They particularly like my Avengers range and they’re willing to pass on personal commissions for a small cut.’

Steve straightens up and grins.

‘That’s fantastic!’

‘Yeah, it is. Not going to quit my job just yet but it’s something,’ she agrees.

‘So we’re celebrating?’

She picks up her Coke and clinks it to his.

‘Yeah, we’re celebrating.’

Steve wants to hug her but the table is between them and the idea putting his arms around her feels somehow more significant than usual. It’s like something has changed between them but only on his part. He is not sure what but it is making it suddenly hard to relax with her, to be himself. Perhaps if he took a moment to think it through the answer would be obvious but being a wanted fugitive doesn’t exactly leave much time for extensive soul searching.

He is saved from the turmoil of his thoughts by their food arriving and he tucks into his burger with a show of enthusiasm he doesn’t necessarily feel, shoving all his uncertainties into a mental box and snapping the lid closed.

While Darcy nibbles on her fries she chats about the commission, the general drudgery of waitressing, her friend’s new baby, and her plants. She doesn’t ask many questions about him, though he can tell she is curious, just her usual query about the wellbeing of the team. Steve is content to listen and feels himself relax again, calmed by her presence and the mundanity of the conversation. Leaning his hand on his fist as he watches her talk, transfixed by the warmth in her eyes, the expansive weaving of her hands as she gestures, and the tiny dimple that appears next to her mouth every time she smiles.

She glances up from her plate. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asks.

Steve gives a slow smile. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know, like that.’ She gestures vaguely at him and her lips twitch.

‘I’m not looking at you like anything, I’m just listening.’

She purses her lips and then sticks her tongue out at him. Steve snorts.

‘Very mature,’ he says blandly and she grins.

‘Well, we can’t all be venerable cente…’

‘If that’s a joke about my age, let me just stop you there,’ he says raising an admonitory brow to which she responds with a mocking pout.

‘You’re no fun,’ she says, reaching across the table and tugging playfully on his beard. He catches her hand before she can pull away.

‘I can be…’

The shrill ring of his phone cuts him off and he fumbles in his pocket to pull it out, dropping Darcy's hand in the process.

‘Nat,’ he says in a low voice. She knows where he is so she wouldn’t be interrupting for anything but an urgent matter.

‘Steve,’ she acknowledges. ‘We need to go to Edinburgh, right now, I’ll pick you up in five minutes.’

‘I’ll be out front,’ he says, not bothering to ask questions. She can fill him in on the jet. She doesn’t say goodbye, just hangs up and he finds himself staring at the blank screen. When he glances up Darcy is biting her lip and her expression is sombre. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go to Edinburgh,’ he blurts out before he has a chance to think through what he should be revealing.

‘I figured, well, not Edinburgh particularly, but I figured you have to go.’

‘It’s important, I don’t know why but it is.’

She nods and pulls out her wallet, dropping several notes on the table to cover their bill. For once he doesn’t argue, just rests a hand briefly on her shoulder in mute thanks and follows her outside.

The parking lot is empty and Steve looks up the highway but he can’t yet see Nat approaching. Darcy leans against her car and rubs a foot down her shin before scraping her toe idly in the dirt. There is something forlorn about her demeanour and he watches her throat bob as she swallows. It is as if she wants to speak but can’t find the words. When she looks up at him, her eyes sad, his breath catches and the latch on that carefully stowed box confining all his uncertainties rattles and almost snaps open.

He puts a hand out because it feels right and when Darcy reaches for him he pulls her in for a hug, the one he denied himself earlier. She is warm and soft against him, and feels like contentment. The faint sweet smell of her shampoo assaults his nostrils and he leans back a fraction to tilt her chin up until she is looking at him, her eyes soft on his. She rubs a hand up his bicep and rests it on his shoulder.

He thinks that she might be holding her breath.

He knows that he is.

Her tongue darts out and wets her lips and he tracks the movement with his eyes, before brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing softly against her earlobe. She shivers and Steve feels suddenly like he does in the seconds before a jump, the exhilaration of freefall about to hit him.

‘Darcy, I…’ he begins to say but there is a crunch of gravel and a nondescript silver car pulls into the lot, Nat in the driver’s seat. She stops next to them and waits, the engine idling.

Darcy sucks in a sudden deep breath and takes a quick step back.

‘I guess this is my ride,’ Steve says, wishing that they had more time, although, at the same time, partially relieved at the interruption that has prevented him from doing something rash.

Darcy nods, resolute, and slides a hand over the back of his neck, pulling his head down so she can kiss him gently on the cheek. His skin almost burns with awareness of the soft press of her lips and there’s a strange sense of déjà vu, like something he dreamed once, a fleeting promise of happiness and safety. She pulls back and he sees that her tight smile is once more fixed in place.

‘Be careful,’ she commands, as she always does.

He nods and opens the car door. Her hand twitches as if she might reach for him again but then she snatches it back and shoves it in her jacket pocket.

‘I’ll call you when I can,’ he says, pausing before he slides into the passenger seat, silently lamenting his lacklustre parting words.

‘See that you do,’ she says just as he closes the door, the thud ominous in the sudden muted atmosphere of the car. Darcy lifts her hand in acknowledgement of Nat, who responds with a brief nod, and then she turns her crooked smile on Steve. He smiles softly back at her and then resolutely turns his eyes to the road ahead.

Natasha looks over at him from the driver’s seat, casts a glance at Darcy standing by her car and shakes her head. She doesn’t speak and he is grateful for her silence as she pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Washington DC - March 2018**

When he finally gets a chance to call her it’s already too late.

He goes to her apartment eventually, although the endless ringing of her phone tells its own story. It takes him a long time to pick the lock, his hands shaking so hard that he almost resorts to brute force in his impatience.

The apartment is empty as he knew it would be, her navy blanket draped messily across the couch, a half-eaten sandwich mouldering on top, and the television screen blank and churning out white noise. He switches it off and sits down heavily, staring blindly at the barren soil in half her plant pots, the soft blanket clutched in impotent fists, until silent tears begin to trail down his face for another friend he failed to save.

Despite everything, he had hoped. But it seems there is no place for hope in this ruined new world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry :(


	13. Chapter 13

**Washington DC - July 2023**

‘I hung your cartoon in my living room,’ is the first thing Steve says to Darcy when he pulls back from the tight hug they share. Sam had found her for him, in a shelter for the displaced who have suddenly popped back into existence to find the world has moved on without them.

It’s such a stupid thing to say but all of the other things he might have said have too much weight behind them and he doesn’t want to overwhelm her. He can’t tell her that he took the portrait he had drawn and placed it beside his bed for a while, until eventually it ended up face down in a drawer because he couldn’t bear to be reminded any longer. Can’t tell her that the first year was hell and it was only Natasha who stopped him giving up completely, as each loss carved away another fragment of his heart until he wasn’t sure there was enough left to keep beating. Can’t tell her that all he feels now is numb, the result of five years of stifling every difficult emotion just so that he can keep putting one foot in front of the other. He is happy to see her but it feels almost as if he is dispassionately watching himself hug her, all the anticipated emotions muted, like it is happening to a character in a film and not to him. 

Darcy looks the same, aside from the strained look in her eyes. They all do, those that dusted, because no time has passed for them. It is only those left behind who have aged, more than five years in most cases.

‘There’s someone living in my apartment,’ she says. ‘I’m not sure who was more scared when I suddenly appeared on my…his couch. Has it really been five years? That’s what they keep telling me but it just seems impossible.’

He nods slowly and she drops her eyes to the floor.

‘Well, fuck,’ she says quietly. ‘How’s the team?’

Her innocent enquiry inadvertently causes a tiny hairline fracture in his carefully maintained façade. She looks up when his grip on her shoulders tightens involuntarily. He doesn’t need to say anything, she can read it all there in his eyes.

‘Who?’ she whispers hoarsely.

It’s a struggle to get the words out but he manages eventually. ‘Nat and Tony.’

Her hand finds its way to his and she threads their fingers together.

‘I’m so sorry, Steve.’

He pulls her back into a one armed hug, resting his chin on the top of her head and blows out a soft sigh. They stand like that for a long time, oblivious to the numerous similar reunions going on around them in the shelter.

Darcy suddenly pulls away from him, her expression slightly panicked. ‘Do you know what happened to my dad?’

Steve does, of course he does. Robert Lewis is still living at the same address, the house where Darcy grew up, one of the _lucky_ ones that didn’t dust, though Steve isn’t so sure he would call them lucky, not anymore. He never quite had the audacity to go to the house, to introduce himself to Darcy’s father. Given what Darcy had told him Robert Lewis probably wouldn’t have appreciated a strange, sad man turning up out of the blue desperate to reminisce about his daughter who disappeared one day along with half the population, but he kept discreet surveillance on Mr Lewis in the intervening years via some friendly contacts. It isn’t much but it’s something. Not that he really thinks Darcy would be impressed if he told her.

She’d want to smack their heads together for being such emotionally stunted idiots.

Darcy demands to go to her father immediately. She’s as close to breaking down as Steve’s ever seen her, her movements frantic and her voice high, teetering on hysteria. The whole journey in the car she fidgets, picking restlessly at her fingernails, tense and quiet in a way that is so unlike her and although he wants to take her hand, soothe her agitation with his touch, he just grips the steering wheel tightly and doesn’t say a word. 

When Steve pulls up at the once grand house, guilt stabs at his gut as he notices that the garden is more overgrown than the last time he drove past, weeds sprout from between the cracks in the paving of the driveway and a piece of guttering hangs at an odd angle. A grey haired man is waiting in the porch, leaning heavily on a silver topped cane.

A sharp inhale of breath from Darcy tells Steve that her dad is one of the ones who has aged far more than the five years since the Snap. He certainly has a frailty about him that Steve did not expect despite all the surveillance reports he has read.

Darcy gives Steve a tight smile, her green eyes fearful and her expression hesitant, but after a moment of visibly gathering her courage she presses his hand in silent gratitude, a light touch that nevertheless briefly stirs something in him. She takes a deep breath, gets out of the car and walks slowly up to the house. There are already tears on the old man’s cheeks as he comes unsteadily down the steps to meet her halfway, catching her up in his arms. There’s tension in Darcy’s spine for a moment, and then she relaxes into his hold, stroking his back as he cries and hugs her close.

Steve swallows hard, a lump forming in his throat. He remembers her doing the same for him so many times in the past, the warmth of her embrace and the soothing press of her hands calming his grief, until she wasn’t there anymore and he had to learn to endure without the comfort of her presence.

Has he learned it too well?

She seems the same but he feels like there is a gulf much larger than five years between them. A gulf that exists between him and everyone he knows, those that dusted and those that didn’t alike. He envies the others their giddy joy in the restoration of all that was lost, but it eludes him and only serves to widen that gulf.

There is only one thing he can cling to now. Time travel is possible. Maybe he can finally have what he has always wanted.

He ignores the voice in his head that questions if he still wants it, shaking his head fiercely to rid himself of the intrusive thought. 

There is no room for doubt.

He realises he is still sitting there, the engine idling. Darcy and her father have pulled away from their embrace and are now talking, their heads bent together. He watches as Darcy glances back at the car and even from this distance he can see the redness around her eyes.

She still looks beautiful, and for some reason the observation makes the lump in his throat even bigger.

Her sudden distraction draws her father’s attention, and he says something, a question perhaps, his eyes narrowing as he struggles to focus on the car. Darcy shakes her head and puts a supporting arm around the old man, steering him gently toward the house. Steve waits, hoping she'll look back again but she doesn’t.

He sighs and pulls away from the curb, his thoughts in chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so Steve's a mess...


	14. Chapter 14

**New York - August 1946**

The street is quiet, only a single car pulling out of a distant driveway and the muted chorus of children playing nearby can be heard. Peggy’s little yellow house stands in front of him and Steve swallows nervously. It is almost a year after his supposed death and the end of the war, and he is hoping that the furore will have died down somewhat and allow him to slide under the radar. So far it seems to have worked.

It’s not the same as he remembers, the idealistic veil of his memories is already growing tattered. Only yesterday he saw a sign in the window of a diner say ‘Whites only’, and had to restrain himself from marching in and ripping the stupid thing down. It probably would have got him arrested and drawn attention that he is trying so desperately to avoid. Later he had seen a man openly grope a woman on the street and watched her walk away without a word and downcast eyes. Steve was so taken aback that the man had disappeared before he could intervene.

He takes the compass from his pocket and opens it, staring at the picture in the lid for a moment and then back at the house. With a snap he closes it up and shoves it back in his pocket. He can’t shake the restless feeling that plagues him and he can’t stop thinking about Bucky, Darcy and Sam. He knows that they will be fine, they have each other. He gave Bucky Darcy’s phone number before he left and he knows that Bucky will take it upon himself to contact her. This is Steve’s chance to rest, to get a life as Tony put it, so why doesn’t he feel more content? He knows that there is a possibility that perhaps Peggy will reject him, but surely he should feel more concern for the prospect than he does. A life with Peggy is all that he has wanted for so many years so why now, when that possibility is almost within his grasp doesn’t he feel more elated?

He shakes his head to clear away those thoughts and takes a deep breath before striding up to the house. He hesitates for a moment and then raps sharply on the door. Inside he can hear the faint tones of the radio and then a shuffle of movement behind the closed door.

Peggy opens the door, her expression expectant, her hair in perfect curls and her lips tinted red just as he remembers.

‘Steve?’ she gasps. The teacup she is holding falls to the ground and shatters on the tiles as she stares at him, but neither of them pay it any attention. 

He smiles at her sheepishly. ‘Hi Peggy,’ he says softly. He watches as her lip trembles and her eyes fill up. She looks at him for a long moment and then throws herself into his arms, cutting off his garbled explanation about the future and time travel.

‘I’m sorry I’m so late for our dance,’ he says when she releases him and he can get the words out. She laughs through her tears, dashing them quickly from her cheeks, and draws him into the living room where the radio is playing softly.

‘Very late,’ she agrees. She takes his hand and pulls him close. Steve rests his other hand on her waist and they sway gently to the music. When he tries to speak she shushes him.

‘Let me enjoy my dance,’ is all she will say.

He rests his cheek against her dark curls, shuffling his feet carefully with the music and it should be everything he’s been dreaming of but there’s an ache in his chest that he can’t explain. He tilts her chin up and presses his lips to hers, savouring the warmth of her kiss and the feel of her mouth beneath his, and yet, there’s something not quite right about it. He pulls away, confused and troubled.

Peggy smiles gently up at him, seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil.

‘You look older,’ she says, smoothing a hand over the frown lines that mar his brow as he looks down at her.

‘I am older,’ he says.

‘And you’re different.’

‘I am,’ he acknowledges.

‘It’s just a dance, isn’t it?’ she says wistfully.

‘I thought it could be more but…’

Peggy sighs and pulls away. He lets her go and though it hurts, it’s a nostalgic ache. Waving him into a seat she goes into the kitchen and comes back with a tray laid out with a tea service, yellow roses decorating the china.

‘Tea?’ she says.

‘Please,’ Steve nods, more for the distraction than from any particular want, and watches as she carefully pours. She adds a dash of milk and passes it to him. The cup looks tiny and delicate in his large hands. He could so easily destroy it, like he seems to destroy all the good things in his life. Like he is destroying this moment. He puts the cup hastily down on the window sill without touching the tea.

Peggy seats herself opposite him and sips her tea, her gaze upon him speculative.

‘You’ve changed,’ she observes. ‘You’re not him.’

‘It’s been a long time.’

‘How long?’ she asks placing the teacup down on the table and folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Looking at her through his lashes he answers, ‘About twelve years.’

‘Oh, Steve.’ He can see anguish in her eyes, they are bright with tears, and he knows that anguish is for him, for his failure to move on. For placing her on a pedestal and refusing to let go. There is a long silence which he cannot find then words to break and then she says, ‘What happened?’

He wonders how much he should tell her, the rules of time travel have never been clear to him. Would his being here create a branch? Had he always been here? He really isn't sure and he is reasonably certain that no-one, not even Bruce or Tony, would be able to clarify it for him.

‘I didn’t die,’ he says rather redundantly, ‘I froze and stayed frozen for seventy years.’ Peggy’s hand goes to her mouth to stifle a horrified gasp but she doesn’t interrupt so he continues, ‘I started working for S.H.I.E.L.D.’ He gives her a small smile. ‘The SSR as it becomes. I had a team and we helped people, fought the bad guys, kept the world safe as best we could. Until we couldn’t anymore. Five years ago, in my time, there was a…threat,’ he says rather cagily. ‘And we failed to stop him. We failed, Peggy, and half the world was lost, including some people I had become close to.’ He looked down at his hands, his fists involuntarily clenching at the memory.

‘But you found a way to undo what was done.’ Peggy says calmly and with certainty. It is not a question. The puzzled look Steve directs at her only makes her smile. ‘You wouldn’t be here if it was otherwise.’

‘We did,’ he confirms. ‘Needless to say, time travel was involved, and everyone came back, as if they had never been gone.’

‘But you had the memory of five years without them?’ she asks astutely. He nods, his throat suddenly tight.

‘I…I…’ he swallows hard. ‘I started counselling survivors, after about a year. Sam, my friend, was a counsellor for soldiers and I wanted to carry on his work. I encouraged them to talk of those who had gone, to share their grief, help them to move on.’

‘But you didn’t move on?’

‘I never was very good at that,’ he says with an awkward duck of his head. ‘And I lied to them all, told them that it was best to discuss their feelings, remember those who were gone and yet…I couldn’t do it myself. I couldn’t bring myself to even mention them. I just talked about how it felt to lose you.’

He looks up at her again. Her lips are pulled tight in a grimace of sympathy and he buries his face in his hands.

‘They must have seen through me, seen what a fraud I was, but no-one ever said a thing. They let me get away with it.’

‘Oh, Steve, I’m sure you helped them.’

He nods but it lacks conviction. ‘And then everyone was back but I’d spent five years convincing myself that it was only you, that losing you was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.’ He looks at her guiltily. ‘Not that it wasn’t, but I’d mourned you and what we could have had,’ he tries to explain.

‘It’s okay, Steve, I understand. You’d moved on,’ she says quietly. ‘As you should have.’

‘Except I hadn’t, or maybe I had but then took a couple of steps backwards in those years. I don’t know. I just know that I didn’t want to fight any more, that I’d always dreamt of a life with you, and now I had time travel and nothing standing in my way anymore.’ He takes the compass out of his pocket as he speaks, smoothing his thumb over its worn casing. Looking up he finds Peggy scrutinising it and he knows that she recognises it.

‘So you came back to me,’ she says.

‘I did.’

‘Only you’ve changed, I’ve changed and what you were holding on to isn’t quite what you thought?’

He sighs. ‘Something like that.’

‘Was there no-one else?’

‘There was someone, at least there could have been someone, maybe. I don’t know. I’d known her for years and I’d only just begun to see how important she was to me when…’ he snaps his fingers. ‘I’m sorry, Peg, this really isn’t how I imagined this conversation would go.’

She chuckles but there is little humour in it. ‘I never imagined I would get to have this conversation.’ He watches as she rises to her feet, crosses the room and perches on the arm his chair. She takes his hands in hers, rubbing gentle thumbs over the backs of his knuckles. ‘Steve, I love you…’

‘I love you too, Peggy, I really do…’ he says solemnly but she silences him with a squeeze of his hands.

‘I love you, but I’ve grieved for you, mourned your loss and things are different now. We’ve both changed and much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think that you’ll find what you’re looking for here, with me. This is a fantasy that you’ve been holding on to for far too long.’ She smooths his hair back from his face and he leans into the caress, closing his eyes, letting himself imagine for a moment that he had never gone into the ice. That this is all he had ever known.

Eventually Peggy asks, ‘Does she love you?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says candidly, ‘I remember times now, things she said and did that…she might, but I really don’t know.’

‘And how does she feel about Captain America?’

‘She’s pretty indifferent to Captain America, I think she much prefers Steve Rogers,’ he admits.

‘Steve Rogers was always the best aspect of you,’ Peggy says with a soft smile. ‘Does she know where you are?’

He nods.

‘Poor woman. God, you’re such a dolt, Steve,’ she says but her tone is affectionate and she strokes his cheek. There is a pause and then she says, almost unwillingly, ‘Am I going to be happy?’

‘You’re going to be so happy,’ he says earnestly. ‘You have such a good life, do amazing things…’

She cuts him off quickly, ‘No, no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know anything.’

‘Nothing?’ he says uneasily.

‘Nothing,’ she says firmly. ‘I don’t know how this time travel thing works but…it’s probably for the best.'

Steve stares at her for a long time, pondering. Should he tell her about Hydra, about Bucky? She already knows that he, Steve, isn’t dead but Stark continued to look for him anyway and never found him so that shouldn’t change, even with this new found certainty of his survival. If he tells her about Hydra will it change anything or will events unfold just as they already have? Or worse, will she get herself killed trying to root out the infection and never get to live the wonderful life he knows she already has. He frowns, unsure and she chuckles, fingertip tracing the pinch in his brow.

‘So pensive, Steve,’ she says. ‘You can’t save everyone.’

He sighs, a forlorn acquiescence, and raises her hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

‘I loved you, Peggy, I do love you but you taught me that there’s not necessarily only one true love for everyone. I love her and I love Bu...’ he coughs, mindful of her earlier warning, though it pains him. ‘My friends,’ he amends, ‘and it’s only just dawning on me what it means to leave them. I thought if I came here, it would be like coming home, but…’

‘Now the time you’ve left feels like home,’ she surmises.

‘It does,’ he says heavily. ‘Things have changed a lot. Some for the better and some not so much but I was happy there, I think I’d just forgotten that.’

Clasping his face between her hands Peggy leans in and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

‘I think it’s time for you to go home,’ she says and he can see the tears in her eyes again, a shimmer of moisture that hints at her sorrow. He swallows and bites his lip. God, why does every choice seem to be so hard, cause someone he loves pain? He watches as she turns his hand over to reveal the compass in his palm and then she plucks it from his grip. ‘Can I keep this? To remember you by?’ she says. Flicking it open she stares for a moment at the picture of herself before smiling tenderly. ‘I don’t think you’ll be needing it anymore.’

Steve closes her hand around the compass and envelops her hand in both of his. ‘You guided me for so long,’ he says.

‘But now it’s time to let go.’

‘I’ll always carry a piece of you here,’ he says, putting a hand to his heart. She covers it with her own.

‘So will I, my darling.’

Their last kiss is wistfully chaste, but filled with aching melancholy, both knowing that their paths will forever diverge from this moment. But in amongst the regret there is the sharp pull of anticipation for their unknown futures, the loves, the possibilities, for what comes next.

For the _life_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all supposed to take place after Peggy has said her goodbyes on the Brooklyn Bridge but I am not sure exactly when she did that so I guessed the year.  
> Also, if you re-watch the final scene of Endgame as the camera pans towards Peggy's house, the front door appears to be slightly ajar leading me to believe that Steve has literally just arrived, so really this is just an extension of that scene in which they finally get their dance and some much needed closure on their relationship.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's a relief! I was nervous about the reaction to the previous chapter but all your comments have been lovely, so thank you.

**New York - July 2023**

Darcy groans, burrowing under her bedcovers and trying desperately to recapture the fading remnants of her dream, but even as she tries to grasp the trailing threads of memory they slip away and she sighs, reluctantly opening her eyes.

On the pillow beside her is one of the few photos she possesses of her and Steve, a ridiculous selfie of the two of them grinning and squinting in bright sunlight. Falling asleep clutching the photo is probably the reason she was dreaming about him, although it barely counted as a dream, more a verbatim recounting of his last words to her. No detail had been small enough for her subconscious to overlook, and so once again she had seen the involuntary flexing of his long fingers, the spray of pale freckles across his cheekbones, and the helpless remorse in his eyes, as the man she loves haltingly told her his plan to vanish forever into the past to be with the woman _he_ loves. He didn’t word it in quite such bald terms but his intent was clear. 

Even now, as the final vestiges of the dream ebb away, she feels every emotion, the sorrow, pain, jealousy and shame, as sharply as she did the first time she experienced them, and recalls the odd resignation in his demeanour that may have always been there, or may be something her brain has helpfully added to give her torturous, meagre hope.

Except there is no hope. Steve has gone and she will never see him again. All she has now are memories and a hopeless ideal that no-one can ever live up to.

Just like Steve. 

There is something almost mocking in the smile of her beaming counterpart and Darcy both hates and envies her blissful ignorance of the heartache that lies in her future. She grabs the photo and hauls herself out of bed, stomping out into the living room. She has a brief inclination, as she glares at the photo, to rip it into pieces but she knows on reflection that she will only regret it. Instead she contents herself with the violence with which she discards it, hurling it down on the coffee table, a gesture that is completely spoiled by the photo’s slow fluttering descent onto the wooden table top. It lands face up and Darcy closes her eyes against the burning behind her eyelids. She just wants to not look at it for a while, to not be constantly reminded of Steve and all that she has lost.

There had been a brief, selfish moment when she had considered telling Steve the truth, letting him into the secret she has been keeping from him for so many years. Except that she couldn’t bring herself to face the inevitable rejection and she didn’t want to make their parting any more difficult for him. He did not need the burden of her unrequited love weighing him down so instead she had pasted a smile on her face and told him he was making the right decision, that he deserved his happiness.

Rubbing her eyes, Darcy trails listlessly into the bathroom and turns on the tap. She stares at herself in the mirror. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, the shadows under her eyes mauve against her pale skin. Bending down, she splashes some cold water on her face and then looks at her tired reflection again, eying the face in the mirror narrowly. With a jerk she straightens her shoulders and gives herself a derisive glare for her self-indulgence.

 _Steve’s happiness is the most important thing,_ she tells herself severely.

It is just hard when his happiness comes at the cost of all her hopes, but maybe if she repeats it enough times it will ease the pain. Grabbing a towel from the rail she gives a hearty sniff and dries off her face.

There is an odd whooshing noise and a soft thump from the living room and she freezes, the towel clutched in her hands. She drops it to the floor and opens the bathroom door quickly. The sight that greets her makes her legs buckle, breath catching in her throat. She clings to the door handle and just stares.

Steve is standing by the couch.

‘Steve?’ she eventually manages to croak, moving uncertainly out into the apartment, wondering if her muddled, emotional brain is imagining things. He looks away from the photo laying on the table and turns such hopeful eyes on her that her heart stutters.

‘I made a mistake,’ he says before she can open her mouth again.

Darcy puts a hand to her chest to try to calm the racing pulse of her heart.

‘What kind of mistake?’ she says urgently. ‘A ‘Sorry but you’re about to disintegrate into dust again any minute now’ mistake, or an ‘I just need some gaffer tape and WD40 and I can fix this’ kind of mistake?’

Steve stares at her blankly for a moment.

‘Did you run out of Pym Particles?’ she says, impatient in the face of his silence.

‘What? No,’ he says. ‘No. The stones are all back where they’re supposed to be.’

‘So the timeline is fixed?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ she says, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

_Why is he here?_

Steve looks at her through his lashes and grimaces. ‘I was holding onto something, to someone and I thought she was the answer but she wasn’t. The answer was right here.’ He looks down and grunts almost irritably. ‘God, that sounds trite, but it’s the truth.’

‘Steve, I…I don’t understand,’ Darcy says, feeling all of a sudden light headed.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve been such an idiot, Darcy. I don’t know if you feel anything more for me than friendship, but I had to tell you that I do feel more for you and see if maybe you might feel the same way.’

‘You’ve got to be shitting me!’

The words slip out before she can stop them and she doesn’t necessarily regret it. It’s not the most eloquent expression of her disbelief but it’s the best she can do at that moment. Steve had been staring at the floor but now he is staring at her. He looks pathetically unsure of himself and part of her feels bad for him, but mostly she just feels angry.

He told her he was going to Peggy. Darcy has made her peace with that. Actually she is not even close to making her peace with that but that’s not for Steve to know. And now he is here saying…saying what exactly? She can’t even be sure. It’s too much, that he could be here and implying that he _feels_ something that she had long given up hope of.

Is she still asleep? Should she pinch herself to check?

She digs nails into her palms but it makes no difference, he is still standing there and his gaze has dropped again, as if afraid of her reaction.

Part of her wants to tell him to fuck off. He made his choice and that’s fine.

_Really, it’s fine!_

But for once she can’t find her voice. It’s there somewhere but her throat is so tight she is almost struggling to breathe, let alone speak.

So instead of a powerful articulation of her displeasure, her next words are choked by a sob. Steve looks up at her a little wildly, and even as her eyes squeeze shut she knows he is watching as she falls apart, the first sob releasing the dam on her emotions in a sudden embarrassing torrent of weeping. With each wave of tears she shudders visibly, but when he makes a move towards her she shakes her head in denial, holding up a restraining finger. She can’t have him close when she is such a wreck.

He stops in his tracks.

‘I’m a fool,’ he admits, the look he is directing at her under his lashes so desperate it brings on another bout of sobbing from her. ‘I was so fixated on the memory of Peggy and the life I thought I would have, that I might have ruined everything. Might have missed the chance to move on with the one person I want.’

She can do nothing more than stare incredulously at him, tears still slipping unheeded down her cheeks.

He must think she’s crazy.

She feels crazy, dizzy with longing and uncertainty.

‘I couldn’t tell you,’ she says, briefly gaining some sort of mastery over her voice, although it cracks audibly as she struggles to get the words out. ‘I didn’t want to make things harder for you.’

He groans at her admission and takes a tentative step forward. Darcy tries to collect herself but the pieces of her are too scattered, too broken to gather. All her questionable composure has deserted her and all that is left is raw emotion, bursting through the cracks in her psyche. She puts up a hand to hold him back, trying in vain to pull herself together, but it is an impossible task and in the end she just casts herself in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. He gathers her up, rubbing a hand over her back as she cries, making soothing noises and holding her close. Her hands fist the front of his khaki skirt, crumpling the fabric as she soaks his shoulder with her tears.

Steve cradles her, whispering, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ over and over.

By the time Darcy has vaguely regained command of herself, Steve has moved them carefully to the couch without her really noticing, and has her nestled on his lap. She sniffs noisily and then presses her face to his shoulder again, reluctant to look at him. The feel of his large hands smoothing their way down her arms is calming and she doesn’t want him to stop, but she knows that at some point she will need to speak to him, to clarify his position. She knows what she thinks she heard but her bruised heart isn’t willing to just accept it. It seems too good to be true and she doesn’t want to get her hopes up, only to have them dashed.

Steve clearly notices the slackening in her tears, the slight return to coherent thought, and he begins to speak again in a low murmur that causes an involuntary shiver to run through her.

‘I spent five years talking about how much it hurt to lose Peggy, how waking up to find that seventy years had passed was so painful but I never talked about you, or Bucky, or Sam. I never told anyone that I’d lost my best friend for the third time after only just getting him back. I never mentioned that Sam was gone, the best person I know, a truly good man. I never spoke of losing you, my friend, the one I was only just beginning to realise meant so much more to me. I never spoke of any of you, because it was too painful. I lied to them all, telling everyone to move on and talk about those who were gone, remember them but I wasn’t taking my own advice. I pushed it all down and only talked of the things that the passing of time had already eased. I lied and lied until I’d all but forgotten the truth.’

Darcy raises her head slightly and sniffs.

‘But you love Peggy…?’ she says in a small voice and tries to pull away, to find some dignity in Steve’s inevitable rejection, but his hands gently restrain her.

‘Hear me out,’ he pleads and she subsides. He sighs, a long drawn out breath.

‘I _did_ love Peggy and there’s a small part of me that will always love Peggy,’ he admits slowly. ‘But I’m not the same man I was when I met her, and she’s not the woman for me anymore. I needed her then, she was fire and ambition, someone to give me the kick I needed to really become Captain America, to fight. And had things turned out differently I don’t doubt that we could have been happy together. But after I woke up from the ice being Captain America wasn’t a problem, it was Steve Rogers that I’d lost and you helped me find him again.’ He stops and strokes her cheek tenderly, a little half smile on his lips. ‘You’re my anchor. You keep me steady in this crazy modern world.’

Darcy turns her face into his shoulder again. ‘God, you make me sound so boring,’ she mumbles into his neck. Steve laughs quietly, playing with the ends of her hair.

‘You’re anything but boring,’ he assures her. ‘I was so broken when we met and you pieced me back together.’ His hand stills for a moment. ‘Peggy’s my past but I want you to be my future. I want to take you dancing; and make you breakfast on lazy Sundays; and buy you flowers just to see you smile; and hold you when you’re sad; and re-watch Firefly with you, for like the fiftieth time; and make you laugh; and…’

‘Wipe my nose when I’m sick and rub my stomach when I’ve got my period?’ Darcy interrupts dryly, although inwardly she’s somewhat less composed.

‘Yeah, I want all of that,’ Steve says with a fond smile. ‘I don’t want to fight anyone anymore, Darcy, I just want to…’ His voice cracks a bit and her hands pull him tighter to her. ‘I just want to…live,’ he says after a pause. ‘I want a life and I want you in that life, in whatever way makes you happiest.’

He lets out a breath as if saying those words cost him a supreme effort. As if he should be ashamed for wanting something for himself.

Darcy inhales slowly, breathing in the heady scent of him. She is trying to unscramble her thoughts and she knows she is taking too long when she feels him tense beneath her.

‘I understand if you don’t…’ he starts to say but she stops him with a finger to his lips and lifts her head from his shoulder. His eyes are bright with moisture and she hates the defeat that she reads in them.

‘Steve,’ she says softly, ‘be quiet for a moment.’ He nods a little stiffly but closes his lips. She shifts slightly, easing away from him so she can look at him properly. She can feel the tension running through his body, the slight tremble that gives away his struggle to keep silent. Sliding her palm to rest against the side of his neck she debates her next words, how to tell him everything she feels, all that she has hidden in the years she has known him. Her heart thrums in her chest and she wonders for the first time if he can hear it, if all this time he has known how he makes her heart race. She shakes her head briefly at the odd direction of her thoughts and he catches the tiny movement, face falling into lines of resignation. She curls her fingertips into his neck, brushing through the soft strands of hair, and gathers all the faltering shreds of her courage.

‘Steve,’ she whispers, ‘I’ve wanted all that with you for longer than I care to admit,’ and presses her lips to his.

For a second Darcy thinks she’s made a terrible mistake. He is so still under her that she is suddenly terrified that her own desperate wishes have led her to wilfully misunderstand every word he has said to her. But then he gives a low hum, deep in his throat, and his hand slides up to clasp the back of her head, pulling her closer.

His mouth moves gently at first, hesitant, searching. She lets out a shuddering sigh, parting her lips and feels the feather light tease of his tongue. It sends a flash of desire through her and her grip on his shoulders tightens as she deepens the kiss, suddenly frantic to taste him, to feel him, to love him. He responds with a little breathless moan and it is all the encouragement she needs. Without breaking their kiss she shifts her hips and slides a leg over him until she is astride him, firmly pressed against his solid chest, hands cupping his face. Steve’s hands skim up her sides, one settling in the small of her back, the other flattening between her shoulder blades and she can feel every ounce of his restrained strength in the press of his large hands and the curve of his muscular arms around her body. It is all at once everything she has been dreaming of and completely overwhelming, and too soon she has to pull away, breathing hard.

Steve’s eyes are wide and dark, his breath hot against her cheek. Darcy presses her forehead to his and watches as his eyes drift shut, a small smile curving his lips. She decides there and then that she never wants to see any other expression on his face, that she is willing to take on governments, burn the world if necessary, so he can have the life he so desperately wants, so that contented smile never again leaves his face.

She wrinkles her nose, he’d probably have an issue if she burned the world, so perhaps not that.

His fingertips caress the exposed skin at the top of her arm where the short sleeve of her t-shirt ends and she tries not to be distracted, tries not to think how his hands would feel on other areas of bare skin. As usual she fails miserably.

Steve sighs again and says, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

That question kind of pisses Darcy off and puts an end to her lewd imaginings. She pulls away from him, sitting back on her heels and thumps him ineffectually on the shoulder. Steve barely flinches, but his expression turns wounded. It’s rather like punching a brick wall but it makes her feel a little better, despite the ache in her knuckles. There really is no getting around the fact that he fucked off to post-war America to be with his lady love and now he’s changed his mind.

So yes, she’s annoyed with him, but then she is also in love with him so it’s a little hard to maintain her resentment in the face of those doleful blue eyes.

‘You know why,’ she says tartly.

He bites his lip and she struggles not to kiss him again, to wipe that pensive expression from his brow.

_God, her emotions are all over the place._

‘Peggy?’ he says softly.

She rolls her eyes in exasperation. ‘Peggy,’ she confirms, though she hardly thinks it necessary. ‘And the fact you never gave me any reason to suppose that you felt anything for me other than friendship. I didn’t begrudge you that but I wasn’t willing to risk what we had for a ridiculous fantasy.’

He drops his head to her shoulder.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ he says and then lifts his head again. ‘When did you know?’

Flushing under his gaze she says reluctantly, ‘After Sokovia.’ He blinks and opens his mouth but she stops him with a look. ‘You came here and told me about your vision. I knew then, but it was pretty clear that my feelings were not returned.’

He drops his head again and rubs his face against her neck. She can’t help but shiver at the feel of his lips against her sensitive skin.

‘God, I’m such an idiot,’ he mumbles.

‘Yes, you are,’ Darcy agrees and then, against all her better judgement, captures his lips in another kiss which he willingly returns. His hands trace over her hips and slip under the bottom edge of her t-shirt, rucking it up as they slide along the skin of her back. She purrs under his touch. Pulling back so her forehead is once again pressed to his, she takes a deep breath.

‘I love you, Steve,’ she blurts out, then wants to give herself a slap for letting him off the hook so easily. It’s those stupidly long eyelashes and that pouting bottom lip, how can anyone stand in the face of such prettiness?

She’s going to have to find some way to make him suffer, just a little bit.

Except then he says, ‘I don’t deserve you,’ in an undertone and she stiffens in his grasp.

‘You deserve everything,’ she says vehemently, kissing him hard, her thoughts of petty vengeance instantly forgotten.

‘I love you too. You know that, right?’ he says.

‘Yeah, I’m starting to get the idea,’ she responds and she is pretty sure she’s grinning like a lunatic.

‘I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it.’

‘Well, you can’t have brains _and_ brawn,’ she says with a crooked smile, tracing a hand up his bicep and tapping a finger against his chin. He catches her hand and presses a light kiss to the offending fingertip. 

‘Thanks,’ he says dryly. ‘I guess I’ve got a lot of making up to do.’

‘Yes, you ha…,’ she starts to say, but he cuts her off by cupping her cheek and kissing her fiercely, and Darcy decides that further scolding can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you can guess what happened next... ;) 
> 
> I feel some credit is due to Ang Lee and Emma Thompson as it was Emma Thompson's total breakdown at the end of Sense and Sensibility that was the inspiration for Darcy's reaction.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to finish, a little epilogue to tie up that last loose end from Endgame.  
> Enjoy.

**Avengers Facility, Upstate New York - July 2023**

‘You want to tell me about her?’ Sam asks.

Steve smiles fondly, the creases around his eyes deepening. ‘No, I don’t think I will,’ he says, stroking the gold band on his gnarled ring finger. Sam grins at him and then stares out across the lake. Steve gives a small grunt as he gets slowly to his feet. ‘You’ll be seeing her soon enough,’ he says with a wink. Sam frowns in confusion.

‘You changed your mind then? Wised up?’ Bucky says, approaching on silent feet. Steve rubs the back of his neck and drops his gaze.

‘It took me longer than it should have,’ he admits, looking sheepish and somehow younger.

Bucky laughs and pats his friend affectionately on the shoulder. ‘Yeah, it did, but you got there in the end.’

Sam is glancing between the two of them, perplexed. ‘I don’t understand?’

‘No, you don’t,’ Steve says, ‘but you will, I promise.’ He stretches, aged joints popping. ‘I’d better be getting back, before she realises what I’m up to.’

‘Back?’ Sam queries.

‘Back to the future,’ Steve says with a sly smile, turning to them both. ‘I’ll be seeing you soon.’

Bucky laughs and the sound is rich with elation. He claps Steve on the back. ‘When can we expect you?’

Steve looks at his watch, wrinkles his nose. ‘I’d give me a couple of hours. I’ve got a hell of a lot of making up to do.’

‘Yeah, you have,’ Bucky agrees, wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him in for a tight hug. ‘I’m glad you changed your mind,’ he whispers. Steve returns the hug just as tightly.

‘I’m sorry. I know I’ll say it later, a lot, but I’m so sorry.’ Steve makes a tiny choked noise. ‘It wasn’t that you weren’t _him_ anymore, that I didn’t want to know you as you are now. I just thought it would fix something that was broken in _me_. I was such a mess I forgot ‘To the end of the line’.’

‘I told you that, then?’ Bucky says, his words muffled by Steve’s shoulder.

‘Not for a few years, but, yeah, eventually.’

Bucky sighs. ‘You dope, I just wanted you to be happy.’

Steve pulls back and his eyes are suspiciously bright. ‘I am, I really am.’ He grabs hold of Sam and pulls him into the hug, holding his two best friends tight for a few precious moments before he pulls away and looks them both up and down.

‘Man, you boys look real good,’ he says grinning, before shaking his head. ‘Time really hasn’t been kind to you two.’

‘Hey!’ Sam exclaims as Bucky’s face falls but Steve doesn't see, he has turned and begun walking slowly away, one hand raised in farewell.

‘Hey Cap?’ Sam raises his voice to the retreating figure of his friend. Steve stops and turns toward them. ‘You got any top tips from the future? Sporting events I should be betting on?’

Steve grins back at Sam whose face is a mask of mischief. He tilts his head to one side in contemplation and then says, ‘Sporting events? Afraid not.’ He pauses. ‘But, you pick up an early Grant Lewis painting and it’ll be worth something in a few years.’ He purses his lips pensively. ‘I prefer his wife’s work to be honest, less pretentious, but there’s no accounting for taste. Anyway, it’ll be enough to put your kids through college. And yours too, Buck.’

Steve winks.

Bucky's jaw drops, his expression bemused, and he barely acknowledges Sam's beaming smile and congratulatory grip on his arm. Then slowly a smile curls the corners of his mouth upwards. He drops his gaze to the grass at their feet and mutters ‘Ah, hell,’ but the smile lingers. When he raises his head again, his eyes are shining and his lips are parted as he prepares to blurt out the million questions that amass on the tip of his tongue.

But the old man has already disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How could Steve leave his Bucky, Endgame writers? HOW? That is all.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
